Obsession
by Witchy Bee
Summary: Oneshot #37: "Oh Zev, why are we too stupid to love each other?" Zevran/Isabela
1. Fickle Selena

**A/N:** This is going to be a selection of random oneshots that come to me out of nowhere and I don't really feel like writing a whole story around.

Spoilers for Origins and possibly Awakening are to be expected. And fear not, those of you who care, a new chapter of Third Chances is on its way and this is in no way keeping me from writing it. Vivian will make sure I get that done soon I'm sure. And if you haven't read my other stories, do so.

I may add Sten's First Cookie to this collection later.

**Title:** Fickle Selena  
**Pairing:** F!Dalish/Zevran  
**Notes:** Ultimate Sacrifice ending, Alistair's POV.

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She made all the wrong descisons, and now she was dead.

She _is_ dead.

Selena had been a proud Dalish elf, always taking the reigns of their little army for the good of Ferelden, or more likely for the good of her people. Not that those things had ever been the same of course.

She did terrible things, Alistair reminds himself, a slight jolt of anger bubbles up inside him as he remembers.

She left an entire village to be devoured by undead, she killed countless innocents including Connor - a child, for the Maker's sake! _And a demon, Alistair_ - she lied to people, she could change her loyalties on the spot as if nothing phased her - as if she didn't care, she spared Loghain...and now that bastard is here, at her funeral, breathing the same air as Alistair, how dare he?! She showed mercy to an assassin who had just tried to kill her...and then she did the same to the man who had hired him.

And worst of all: she made him king.

He can't forgive her for that, not yet.

What shocks him most though is that she would turn around and sacrifice herself, even after all this, even when offered a way out - and it certainly wouldn't have been the worst thing she'd ever done either. No, she let her friend walk away on the eve of battle when she was most needed despite the fact that Loghain would have gladly taken the final blow instead.

But Selena was strange like that, he figures, she always had been. Leliana had said she saw this look in her eyes after declining  
Morrigan's offer, like she knew something they didn't.

Something brings him back to reality - a king can't afford to get distracted you know. It was remarkable how many people had attended the funeral, mostly out of respect he wagers, since most of them hadn't been big fans of her work. Neither had he really, but she'd ended the Blight faster than he ever thought possible, probably catching the archdemon itself off guard, and at the cost of her own life at that.

And part of him regrets not being there, just as part of him regrets that the last thing he had ever said to her was how much he hated her. It was just one part of his incredibly justified tantrum in front of the entire Landsmeet, and it hadn't phased her. She remained silent and finally walked out of the palace without another word, Zevran, Sten, and Morrigan following. Riordan and two guards had taken Loghain away somewhere to prepare for the Joining, and frankly Alistair doesn't care if the man was standing right in front of him, he is _still_ dead - Duncan is _still_ dead.

Selena is _still_ dead.

Zevran...Alistair knows Selena and the assassin had been...close, to say the least, though he doesn't know the exact nature of their relationship as he wasn't really best friends with either of them, especially towards the end.

He catches a glimpse of the elf over near where Keep Marethari had been standing since the king's most eloquent speech had ended. Zevran looks terrible, Alistair observes, kinda like he had after Ostagar. Although, it is different too. The assassin isn't blubbering like a child for one, there is just...nothing there.

He is staring at his hands, the templar notes, and even though Alistair couldn't have known it, Zevran is thinking about the two women he'd loved and killed. Rinna had died by his actions, and Selena...by his inaction, because he couldn't keep his promise to her, because he had stayed behind instead of storming the gates himself.

"You said it yourself," Selena had said to him once when he had finally gotten the courage to tell her about his past, "death happens."

But she was no immortal, she bled, she cried - though her companions never knew it - and she had a secret from her past too.

"You were one of Selena's companions, were you not? Is there something I can do for you?" Alistair hears Keeper Marethari ask.

"You...knew her." Zevran says, and recognition flashes in the Keeper's eyes. Alistair understands as well, and turns his attention elsewhere.

Selena; Fickle Selena...

The Dalish was beautiful, by most standards. Had he not known her he might have even found her attractive. Even as she lies there in death, waist-length black hair and tanned skin, the picture of innocence and yet everything but.

It troubles him how someone could do so many bad things for such good reasons, even if it was hard for him to find a good reason to put a tyrant on the throne of Orzammar, or sparing the life of Evil Loghain when you plan to give up your own life anyway. Maybe because she wanted to ensure someone could rebuild the Order when she was gone should Riordan parish as well...? No, she didn't care about the Wardens, she only cared about getting home, and wasn't that a noble goal...? _Dammit_...

He finds it oddly difficult to be angry at a dead woman who had saved his country.

_Dammit_... 


	2. Where Love Leaves You

**Title:** Where Love Leaves You

**Pairing:** Nida/Keenan/Brad

**Notes:** Spoilers for the Awakening side quest Last Wishes.

This idea came to me after seeing the conclusion of that quest. Also, in the conversation with Nida, at the beginning, she says the name of her "companion" and since I'm not exactly sure what she said, I'm going to take a stab at it and say his name is Brad. If you don't like it, or you know I'm wrong, feel free to call him something else or let me know so I can change it, I have no attachment to the name.

___

Nida watches as the Warden-Commander stares at her - or perhaps through her - with those big blue eyes that had won her the hearts of the Ferelden nobility. There is pity and sympathy in those eyes, and just a spark of judgment. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but Nida is willing to assume the former.

What right does she have to judge Nida? So she's killed an archdemon, she is also married to the love of her life and now she's the bloody queen of Ferelden. It's just about as close to happy ending anyone who lived in a nightmare could hope for.

If the rumors were anything to go on, she and the king hadn't been without each other since they were first seen in Lothering all those months ago. She knows nothing of what it is like not knowing whether your husband even lives, spending so many lonely, sleepless nights wondering when it is supposed to get easier.

Keenan had fought for her - It wasn't that he didn't want to be at her side - She was a goddess to him, but she was also a woman who desired nothing more than the warmth of another's body beside her, and even if she was the force behind his blade, the crest on his shield, and the fight in his eyes, that didn't change the fact that he wasn't with her when Nida needed him most.

And eventually, she grew tired of sleeping alone. She began to feel like she was already a widow, mourning the loss of a family that could have been…

When the news of Ostagar reaches her, Nida stops sleeping, she stops eating, probably would have stopped breathing if she could. She does nothing but worries, and watches as each day messengers arrive from the south with a list of names and each an even wilder tale than the last.

The official story had been that the Wardens had left King Cailan to die, but she knows that couldn't be true. It didn't make sense that they would do such a thing only to lose so many of their own in the process.

When Keenan's name never appears on the list outside the chantry, Nida starts to forget what it is she has been fighting for.

She falls victim to temptation, and prays that Andraste still remembers a time when She too was a mortal woman of flesh and blood.

Brad is sweet to her. She always had been painfully shy. But he is more than sweet to her: he is bold. He is nothing like Keenan, and it is scary and exciting and a lot like swimming during a lightning storm she thinks.

Keenan finally does send word to inform her that the group of soldiers he was traveling with hadn't made it to the battle in time and that he's being sent south to fight the horde of darkspawn. It's a suicide mission if she ever heard one.

He had returned to her once for three days during the Blight and for maybe a month and a half after, before answering the call of the Warden-Commander, who now stands before her, and dragging Nida along to Amaranthine - "_for a new life" _he says - and it is up to her to pick of the pieces.

She is shocked when Brad turns up at the inn soaked with rain and battered senseless by the merciless Ferelden winter. And he kisses her with a dead-eyed passion and fucks her like the world is ending, because it is. And there is a rough kind of pain in the desperately still hours bringing forth so much sin and the purest ecstasy that love could never---

And all she wants to do is cry, because Keenan is dead and anger only lasts so long before you start realizing more than part of it is your fault since you gave up and he didn't know when to stop fighting.

When the queen finally takes her leave Nida returns to their room and shuts the door. She tells Brad of Keenan's death, and it sickens her just how fine she is with it, because in a way he had been dead already: the man she married had died when he decided he had something to prove to her or himself or whatever and he became a Grey Warden and she became a symbol of all that was right and good in his world and no longer his wife.

Brad's words are dripping with a sickeningly sweet realism that only comes from months of diligent practice.

And he wraps his arms around her waist anyway and her hand absently traces the gentle curve of her belly, feeling for the soft rhythm of new life stirring inside her.

She'd planned on telling Keenan when he returned from the Wending Wood. She would say it was a miracle from the Maker or blessed Andraste Herself and he would probably believe it. So maybe they could have had a family, even if the child didn't have Keenan's eyes or someone else's nose.

"Brad, please, I just want to be alone right now." She stiffens at the touch of his fingers to her hair.

"Very well, my dear, your wish is my command." He releases her and goes for the door, then pauses. "You're thinking about _him_, aren't you?"

"He was my husband." She replies. "He died for me. I owe him at least a moment of my day, even if he was stupid enough to go and get himself killed over something so trivial as honor."

"I would die for you, you know that?" He kisses her forehead.

She nods. "Yes, I know, my love."

Then she is alone and Nida kneels in front of the table beside the bed they share and removes the book from the drawer. It's an old book, one she hasn't read in years. Keenan had bought it for her when they first arrived in Denerim; he said he wanted to fill a book with beautiful things about her, but he never got the chance.

Inside the book, wrapped up in a thin white handkerchief, was her own wedding ring.

She places both rings on the worn cloth and holds it in her hand. Aside from the dried blood on Keenan's, they are identical. She folds them both up in the handkerchief and places it back into the book, shutting the drawer and rising from her knees.

She paces about the small room, knowing Brad cannot be far. And oh, how she wants to be like Aura: beside herself with grief – of course it certainly didn't help that the poor woman had to see her husband's corpse strutting about the city processed by a spirit or demon or something, Nida wasn't sure – but she just didn't feel it.

True, she _had_ loved him, but his passing just didn't create a jagged pain deep in the pit of her stomach or an ache that cut at her heart and blackened her very soul with sadness: it had been a long time coming, and he had told her from the start, so she had no delusions of what being a Grey Warden meant. She was only being practical…

So why did it hurt so much?


	3. Lady Red

**Title:** Lady Red

**Pairing:** M!Human Noble/Leliana

**A/N:** Because apparently I have to write about practically every pairing at least once.

)O(

He _is_ frustrated, but that's all it is. He should be in the battle, and he kno it, but it will be fine when his father and Fergus return victorious and he gets to teach Oren how to use a sword...

He wants nothing to do with the Maker at that moment.

But then, after the attack on Castle Cousland, he stops believing entirely.

How is one supposed to keep one's faith when their father is bleeding to death before their eyes, begging them to take vengeance, while Mother refuses to leave the dying man's side and all the while a Grey Warden is insisting that they must get a move on if they are to escape?

And he doesn't even know what it is he has just signed himself up for, save for the old tales.

He doesn't even know if he wants to leave this place alive.

Not to mention he still doesn't know what has become of Fergus and he has to suffer being so close yet so far from his brother. And he does not relish the idea of having to be the one to tell him that not only are their parents dead, but his wife and son as well.

For all the king's promises, the lone Cousland doesn't have much hope in anything now. All he really can do is take out his grief on the darkspawn.

And he can't help but fight like a man with nothing to lose; his family sword and shield serving as a constant reminder of just that: what he's lost, and the simple fact that revenge is all he has left to fight for.

Just when the world was falling onto his shoulders, and he had to feign sympathy for Alistair's loss which he can barely bring himself to do - he can barely bring himself to do anything for that matter, and he realizes he hasn't spoken since they'd left the Wilds. Even though Alistair has been sulking in much the same way, the templar is the one who can't take it anymore.

"Say something!"

He hadn't needed to speak. When bandits tried to rob them, he merely unsheathed his sword and the fight began without question, Morrigan casting spells and Alistair also charging into the fray. But now that they were almost into Lothering the ex-templar demanded his attention, asking him what they should do now.

"I'll figure it out." the Lord Cousland mutters.

"Oh, so it can speak after all!" Morrigan exclaims sarcastically. Alistair is dissatisfied with the Warden's decision, but not enough to question it. Silently, they head into the village.

But then he meets her, and something in him is awoken.

She is Orlesian and he is Ferelden nobility. It doesn't make sense, and it's almost ironic. He knows that, but he doesn't care. He loves her...It's a revelation that comes almost too late, yet it's no less true. And he doesn't care what the Landsmeet would say, he doesn't care about the throne - Alistair could have it or even Anora for the Maker's sake - as long as Leliana was his.

When he meets her, he starts to reconsider his lack of faith in the Maker, and destiny.

)O(

"You made Leliana cry."

Loghain turns to see the other Warden glaring at him. The former Teryn had only been with them for a little over a week now and already there were problems between him and the rest of his new companions.

He'd gotten his revenge on Rendon Howe, and he'd spared Loghain's life because frankly Riordan was right: the Grey Wardens weren't judges, he needed all the allies he could get and he could hardly be faulted for Alistair's childish behavior now could he?

"So? To my understanding the woman cries all the time." Loghain observed.

"_You_ made her cry." He repeated.

"Is there a point to this, Warden?"

"She says you were makng remarks about her being Orlesian."

"Well, she is."

"I let you live, and lost a good friend because of it. But if you dare speak that way towards the woman I love, Loghain Mac Tir, I _will_ know and I _will_ kill you. Understood?" His eyes narrowed.

"Yes...Warden."

)O(

He exits Vigil's Keep for the final time, leaving the rebuilding efforts in the most capable hands of Nathaniel Howe.

_Let him go; he's his father._

Leliana stands at the gate, her red hair damp with rainwater. He can tell she's been to Orlais at some point since they've last seen one another. She is clad in what he takes to be the current Orlesian fashion: thigh-high black boots with frilly white lace and a matching coat that was definitely not fit for the Ferelden rainy season. Which is to say, most of the year.

It's like something out of one of those sappy romance novels she so shamelessly enjoys, or one of her tales of the heroic knight who is at last reunited with his true love.

And there are no words. They kiss passionately without a second thought, and all is right again...

)O(

But that is never how it happens.

Loghain hadn't died as a result of slaying the archdemon: _he_ had. Unsure of what to do after the death of her lover, Leliana takes up residence in Highever, at what is left of Castle Cousland.

Fergus is more than happy for the company, since obviously this is a difficult time for him as well having now lost his entire family and having the title of Teryn thrust upon him all in a matter of days.

They settle into a kind of routine.

What few servants will brave working at the castle handle such duties as lighting the lamps and not allowing too much dust to accumulate on things seldom touched, which includes most things nowadays. Sometimes Leliana cooks, but they always take their meals in silence. Afterward, she will walk the grounds no matter the weather before finally retiring to her chambers. Sometimes she prays, or just cries herself to sleep.

_O Creator, see me kneel: _  
_ For I walk only where You would bid me _  
_ Stand only in places You have blessed _  
_ Sing only the words You place in my throat_

)O(

It isn't that she doesn'tt like Fergus, after all they do share a common wound: they miss him, and both live under the notion that the other needs their space. But as the old saying goes: misery loves company.

She begins to feel like a ghost after a while. The staff seems to work around the suffocating presence of the dead and now they do the same with her. She's heard whispers from people in town about the red haired woman who can sometimes be seen standing in a window of the castle.  
_  
_Some even start to call her Lady Red of Highever. Eventually there's even a popular children's rhyme about her that the local youth of all ages will chant in hopes of making he appear. The older ones will make bets and change the words to something inappropriate.

_My Maker, know my heart _  
_ Take from me a life of sorrow _  
_ Lift me from a world of pain _  
_ Judge me worthy of Your endless pride_

)O(_  
_

_"Your eyelashes flutter when you dream..." _She'd said that to him once, and even though he had probably been dreaming of darkspawn he still smiled, if perhaps just for her sake.

Because he loves her, and he doesn't want to let her go just yet.

_My Creator, judge me whole: _  
_ Find me well within Your grace _  
_ Touch me with fire that I be cleansed _  
_ Tell me I have sung to Your approval_

)O(_  
_

One day Zevran visits her in Highever.

"My dear Leliana, you cannot keep tearing yourself up over this. That's not what he would have wanted." the Antivan speaks firmly, and she knows he isn't here completely on his own terms. Wynne, yes, it had to be Wynne.

"It's okay, I'll be with him soon." the bard insists, shaking with excitement. Zevran frowns, realizing just how much worse the situation is than he had been led to believe.

"No, it seems like that now. It may feel like the only solution, but it isn't. Because something will happen, like you will wake up expecting to be dead only to have the person you were sent to kill show mercy on you." the assassin said.

But she just looks on, eyes glazed over with some kind of madness. And sooner or later people stop coming.

O Maker, hear my cry:  
Seat me by Your side in death  
Make me one within Your glory  
And let the world once more see Your favor

)O(

And the Maker hears her prayers, and grants her another vision. Andraste comes to her, singing softly, and beckons her through the Veil.

_Let mine be the last sacrifice...In my arms lies Eternity..._

Her maid finds her, tears of joy in her eyes. It rains that night, too.

_Poor sweet Lady Red_

_Casts herself from a window ledge..._


	4. Perfection

**Title:** Perfection

**Pairing:** Wade/Herren

**A/N:** Nothing really explicit, but this idea just popped into my head and I had to write it. And like I said last chapter, I seem doomed to have to write every pairing ever. Plus, if I'm not mistaken, this is the only fic on this site at least featuring these two. So here you are!

)O(

Herren had never thought he'd end up here. When he strutted into Wade's Emporium as a bright-eyed, young man.

All right, that wasn't true. By that time he was already a fairly successful merchant, known for his patience and skills with people; and his wife had just left him. He was thrilled about the idea of working for Wade, _the_ Wade...

He really wasn't that great with people, but he was better than Wade. Of course Wade was a genius: the best smith in Denerim (and maybe even all of Ferelden) except for when it came to business that is, which admittedly it often did what with owning a shop and such. So Herren was happy to help, on most days, and he was the last one to expect that he would find the love of his life when he first entered the Emporium all those years ago.

Herren didn't regret a single thing...most days...

That night he went to bed alone, remaining there for Maker knows how long without sleep. The market district stirred with unseen nightlife. Sergeant Kylon had been having difficulty keeping crime under control since the Blight, especially since Ostagar, and even though the Warden and his companions had helped a little, apparently everyone had decided that a dire threat to humanity meant you could do whatever you wanted.

He pulled back the covers with an exasperated sigh, climbing out of bed and (again) banging his head against the low ceiling. The quarters they shared were not much, just a small room above the shop which Herren tried to at very least make as cozy as possible...with little success. After all, it wasn't like they could really afford that kind of thing; he should know.

Silently as he could manage, he crept to the top of the stairs. It was dark save for the light of the forge, quiet apart from the rhythmic sounds of Wade's precise work. This was a familiar and almost comforting sound to him now.

And indeed he found the smith still at his usual place; enthralled mind, body, and soul in that blasted drakescale - or was it dragonscale armor now? He couldn't keep track, all he knew was that it was costing them customers, and therefore costing them money. Herren wasn't a greedy person, or even overly ambitious; he just wanted to make sure they would have a place to live and work in the future - if they weren't all swallowed up by the Blight. Maker, at this rate they'd be making armor for darkspawn by next winter!

Pessimistic...that was what he was.

"Wade, come to bed..." Herren whined. The other man whirled around to face him, and he could see how tired Wade was.

"I can't, Herren, I must finish this order. The Blight will not wait and the Warden needs this armor. Just leave me in peace." Wade huffed. Ah yes, the Warden...

Aside from the rare materials he had acquired, the Warden had been all Wade ever talked about recently, Herren thought he'd even heard Wade refer to him by his first name once. Great, so they were on a first name basis now…

Wade had spent an entire day simply getting the Warden's measurements, and even he had questioned why they couldn't just use one of his current sets of armor as a sort of template, _"Because I did not craft it of course."_ Wade had said as if it were obvious.

And maybe it was jealousy, but there was something he just didn't like about the Warden and it wasn't just the fact that he was single-handily driving them out of business - by purchasing from them no less! It was shameful really.

_That_ was what he had to worry about. Besides, he'd seen their "most loyal customer" come into the shop with that redheaded Orlesian woman, the one who'd commented on the fashionability of the armor. He wasn't even sure that was a real word!

But she had certainly been…friendly with the Warden, or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Though he could have sworn the blond elf that traveled with them was flirting with Wade at one point, then again he did seem to flirt with everyone so it was nothing to get all worked up over.

But he knew Wade too well: the smith would even pay the Warden if it allowed Wade to craft armor for him. Just like at one time Herren would have paid to manage the Emporium.

Sighing, he slowly and carefully removed Wade's hands from his work and held them in his own. The smith looked mildly confused and rather annoyed at this.

"Herren, what are you-?"

"These hands..." the other man whispered, inspecting the fingers closely. "Come to bed, please. You can't keep doing this to yourself." _or to me._ "The order will still be there in the morning, so will the Blight."

Wade frowned. "But..."

Herren's lips brushed against Wade's own, silencing him. _That mind_..._those lips_…

"It's been weeks, Wade...don't you think you deserve a break?"

And it wasn't just because Herren couldn't sleep, or that it really had been weeks since he'd so much as spoken to Wade about anything that didn't have to do with the armor or the damned Warden. Wade really was killing himself over this...he didn't sleep, didn't eat, and sometimes it took all Herren's strength not to just up and leave him to his first and possibly his only love: the forge.

And sometimes he wondered if Wade would even notice he was gone.

But then...

Wade took one last ever so subtle glance out of the corner of his eye at the scales, then nodded. He _did_ deserve a break, they both did.

The shop was closed until well passed noon that day, with a sign on the door reading:

DO NOT DISTURB!

The Warden would just have to come back another time. As Wade liked to say, "You can't rush perfection."


	5. Not Rinna

**Title:** Not Rinna

**Pairing:** Zevran/f!Dalish

**A/N:** Alternate ending. Selena accepts Morrigan's offer and thirty years later it's time for her Calling.

)O(

Her eyes gleamed like justice, but she was not Rinna. And he hoped she never would be.

Selena's sun-kissed skin, for instance, that was just a few shades lighter than his own; her waist-length black hair which she sometimes would let him braid, and of course her intricate tattoos - the mark of the Dalish, which even now were fading - these things were all hers.

Zevran had been correct in his description of her all those years ago: she truly was a deadly sex goddess.

Selena was a woman of practical vision, and whatever it was she saw in him must have been worth exploring, because after the archdemon lay dead she told him she wanted to see Antiva for herself.

Zevran said she could at least say farewell to her clan first, but the other elf just insisted it would make leaving that much harder. Besides, she'd done that once already...

A messenger ambushed them the day they left, pleading with her to come to Amaranthine and command the Wardens. But the woman would have none of it.

"You have Loghain for that," Selena had said. "And if he doesn't want to do it then send the Orlesians." The boy was speechless, and thankfully gone by the time the _Siren's Call_ pulled away from the dock into open water.

Together they had broken the Blight, and together they would take the Crows.

And Zevran understood why his Warden wanted this: she had to disappear. She should be dead and eventually people would start to question why the elf still lived. That didn't mean she was running away however; merely moving on.

Before their arrival, Antivan women were treated as pure and delicate objects of reverence. But after they had successfully took control of the House of Crows many things changed.

For one, women were now encouraged to learn combat. There was a noticeable increase in female fighters, especially elves. Most of them were Crows, since the majority of Antivan society didn't care for learning how to defend itself. It was of course what kept assassins in business though. There had always been female Crows, like Rinna, but now more were following their Mistress' example.

She was inspiring...

With her status as co-leader of Antiva's assassins, Selena gained a powerful edge in the political system of the nation. And let's face it, being the Hero of Ferelden - Alistair would pay for giving her that title - was good for a favor here and there. After all, everyone did owe her there lives, even if they'd rather forget it.

And through it all Selena never forgot who she was: Dalish and Grey Warden. Even when her hair held strands of silver - Just at the roots, he'd insist, even when she glared and said that, for an assassin he was a terrible liar. Zevran just laughed. She no longer desired to dance along the sandy shores of Antiva City. But these things that made her who she was were still true. One of them becoming far more evident than the other.

Zevran was no fool, he knew the Calling when he saw it. She slept little, spoke even less than usual, and...he could feel it. There was something when he touched her, something beneath her skin that was black and evil as the archdemon she'd slain. It was...unnatural.

And in all honesty, had it been anyone other than his sweet Selena, he would have been terrified.

Because he had come to her in the beginning seeking an end, and she had shown him the unexpected and undeserved mercy she hadn't shown all the others. The mercy he wouldn't have given her. The mercy he didn't give Rinna...And why?

Neither of them knew, all they knew for certain was that she was dying.

"It's time, Zev, you know that." She'd said it firmly, but her tone was somehow gentle too.

"Is it? Time already…? You don't suppose we could, say, convince the Calling to hold off for another year or two? I mean, no one has tried, who knows it might just work." For a long time they'd avoided this exact conversation, and for very good reason. Now, ii couldn't be avoided any longer.

"Zevran..." she sighed, stroking his hair as they lay in bed. Recently they had taken to having long talks at night since Selena often needed a distraction from her dreams. And how was he supposed to sleep with a beautiful woman sitting wakeful at his side?

"Is it the Deep Roads then? Shall I find a ship that can get us to Ferelen? I think Isabela may be passing through soon, and I have had my eye on a few promising assassins that could make a good leader for the Crows. Or if you prefer we could always just let them sort it out amongst themselves, which may also be great fun." he smirked, but Selena seemed saddened for some reason.

"No; you're not coming with me." she finally said. "And I'm not going to the Deep Roads."

"What?" He couldn't quite mask the shock in his voice. He was really asking two questions: why he couldn't come with her and why she wasn't going to the Deep Roads, but the elf only chose to answer one.

"Anora sent me a letter informing me that Alistair had gone to Orzammar for his Calling." Ah, he remembered seeing that letter. It had been rather formal, dripping with political interest, and the fact that the king had not contacted her beforehand was not particularly surprising: he was likely still angry with her, even after all this time...

And Maker help him, if Alistair wasn't already dead, he would be.

"I know it's tradition, but it's not _my_ tradition." Selena continued. "I spent much of the Blight trying to deny what I had become because it wasn't on my terms. But it didn't change anything did it?" she paused, not expecting a response. "It's like Riordan said, I can go die in the Deep Roads, or the darkspawn will find me eventually. that is my intent."

"So...you plan to wait for them to seek you out, How very...unlike you."

"No, I plan to disappear. I won't put you in danger anymore. Every second that I am here I risk bringing a horde of darkspawn down upon us." He didn't understand this. During the Blight the darkspawn had been a constant threat and she had not feared for his safety then, so what changed?

She loved him.

She would not go to her death. Instead she would wait for her death to come for her. Because going to Orzammar felt a little too much like submission.

"But we could-"

"You must stay and lead the Crows." she stated, shaking her head.

"You know what they say, there is no such thing as an old Crow." she looked away at that. And he spoke softly, "Non posso vivere senza di te, mia cara."

"You must..." she said between kisses, the words like sighs against his lips. "I'm not Rinna; and if you keep trying to meet potential lovers the way you met me, you might not be so lucky next time."

He held her in a possessive embrace until finally he fell asleep, hoping she would still be there in the morning. If she wasn't, then because he was a man of his word, Zevran would gladly storm the gates of the Dark City...

0

0

0

It seemed fitting that she would leave her gloves behind.

Selena took one last look at her assassin. She knew it had to be now, she'd been planning this. Everything was ready, the sun was rising and Isabela waited for her.

She kept the earring, finding that she couldn't stand to part with it, just as she couldn't part with her mother's necklace or Keeper Marethari's ring.

Maybe she'd simply walk into the moonlight like her mother did...

Oh, but how adorable Zevran was when he slept...No, it had to be now.

Without another thought, Selena made her way to the docks. The ship looked better than when she had last seen it, if a little worn, and these last thirty years had been good to Isabela too. Granted, she had aged but her eyes still shined with that playful spark the elf was so used to seeing in Zevran's...

Silently, she climbed aboard. The ship was made ready and they were on their way to Ferelden.

Soon, she would be dead...

O Gods...

She wondered if he would come looking for her.

"It's none of my business," Isabela began, "but I take it Zev doesn't know of our little arrangement?" The old pirate winked.

"No, it isn't any of your business." the elf growled.

When they stood on the shores of Ferelden, their nostrils assaulted with the smell of wet dog, Selena thanked Isabela for her assistance. She knew what she had to do.

"Please, take care of him..." Selena murmured.

The other woman laughed. "I travel to the ends of the world, or however far the seas will take me anyway. What makes you think I'm the best person to do that?" she added, "Besides, I don't think Zev's ever needed anyone to take care of him before."

"I trust you." the Warden said simply.

"Ah, well then I am honored. No promises though, you know how much a pirate's promise is worth I'm sure." That was about what she had come to expect from Isabela, though she couldn't really tell whether or not the pirate was being sarcastic or not.

Selena took her leave then, determined to disappear.

0

0

0

For a while, he did everything as he would if Selena were still there, living under the notion that she would return.

He didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't know how or why, but one morning he woke to find a strange woman in his bed. And he was disgusted with himself; because she wasn't his Warden. The woman in question stirred when Zevran rose from the bed, looking at him with lust in her eyes.

"Buongiorno..." she purred.

"Vestirsi e andare." Zevran demanded, but she just smiled. The woman did have a beautiful smile, he had to give her that.

"Fatto con me, sei tu?"

"Vai, adesso." When she still didn't move he became more frustrated. "Cosa? Vuoi dei soldi?" The woman nodded. Zevran sighed and asked, "Quanto?"

"500 andris. Crow sconto. Non è tutti i giorni si arriva a dormire con l'assassino più potente Antiva e in vivo per raccontarlo." She smiled again, but he was not impressed.

"300 andris, o forse no…"

The smile vanished, replaced by the slightest hint of fear. The prostitute shrugged. "Ah, ma tu guidi un affare duro."

"Vai." he repeated. He couldn't look at her.

"Chi è Selena?" she asked suddenly. His blood ran cold. "Ieri sera...tu..." she waved a hand dismissively. "Non ti preoccupare, non sei il primo. La metà dei miei clienti sono mancanti di una donna. l'altra metà sta cercando di scappare uno." the woman actually giggled.

Zevran remained silent.

"Sono solo curioso." She shrugged again.

"Sai cosa dicono di curiosità ne sono sicuro."

Her naked form tensed just slightly at his words, because she did know. Finally the prostitute regained her composure.

"Sto bene per più di sesso, sai, io sono anche un buon ascoltatore."

"Basta andare."

She frowned. "Allora non stai per dirmi?" the prostitute waited patiently, staring at him like a wide-eyed newborn kitten.

"Selena..." he broke the silence at last, "...was...special. She was dangerous, but a beautiful kind of danger, like a wild untamed animal, or the eye of a storm. She moved with such grace, even in battle. Selena was utterly remarkable...she...made me feel things that I had convinced myself I would never feel again. And I wasn't at all afraid of it."

The whore blinked.

He didn't know why he was telling her this. These were things he had never even been able to tell Selena herself, at least not in words she could understand. Of course neither could this woman in his bed for that matter.

But she did listen, just as she'd said she would. She didn't know what he was saying but she could sense the change in him.

"Potrei restare, sai." she murmured.

"No."

"Poi ho potuto tornare indietro," the prostitute offered, "se mai hai bisogno di parlare ancora una volta voglio dire."

"Pensi che questa sia una cosa comune per me?" Zevran snapped. "Pagare puttane ad ascoltarmi parlare dei miei sentimenti?"

She shrugged. "Tutti hanno bisogno di parlare qualche volta."

Thankfully after a moment he heard a rustling of fabrics as she dressed.

"Addio, mi assassino." she said, and he really was surprised she hadn't been sent to kill him.

She took the coin from a nearby table, not even bothering to count it, and left without another word.

And he was alone again.

0

0

0

One day Isabela turned up on his doorstep. She let herself in and looked him over with those damned eyes of hers.

"Hello, Zev, long time..." the pirate mused with a seductive grin.

"Where is she?" Zevran asked, his voice firm, but the woman just tilted her head to the side inquisitively. The bottle of wine he was holding slammed against the floor, shattering into a million pieces. "Dammit, Isabela, where is she?"

"She's gone." the pirate queen said quietly. "Selena had been planning this all for sometime; she was ready."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but then...he knew it was true.

"She's gone," he repeated, and for the first time, he believed it. "Cruel to the end, my Selena was."

But this time, he wasn't alone.


	6. Touch

**Title:** Touch

**Pairing:** Morrigan/M!Amell

**A/N:** Ultimate sacrifice ending. The epilogue notes that Morrigan is with child. This is not a bug, but rather refers to the many intimate nights she and the Warden spent together. I decided to explore this scenario.

)O(

The light exploded from the tower in one massive surge of energy. She could see it from her place in the shadows; the soldiers cheered, still killing darkspawn but now they smiled and laughed and made a joke of it all because the beasts had no master and were once again mindless vermin.

And this could mean only one thing: he was dead. The Warden as he was known...was dead. She wasn't even supposed to be here, Morrigan realized, feeling suddenly out of place even though remaining unseen.

He was dead...

The minstrels immortalized it in song they say: he fought like a man with nothing to live for.

Morrigan doesn't know why she stays for the coronation or the funeral. Perhaps it finally hits her that she has nowhere to call home save for a small abandoned hut once belonging to Flemeth. But Flemeth was gone, at least for now, because of _him_. And the Wilds - which had always been infested with Chasinds - had been promised to the Dalish elves, so there was little for her there.

Maybe she'd go to Orlais...Surely not all the people there were like the over-zealous, red haired bard, were they...?

But where the Witch would go was the least of her worries, there was still the matter of-

"Morrigan?" She turned to see a shocked and unpleasantly surprised Alistair staring at her.

"What?" she demanded. The templar finally blinked.

"Well I-I mean you...What are you doing here?" he managed at last.

"I am here because the foolish actions of your fellow Warden have greatly disrupted my plans, and I've...yet to make new ones." she said confidently. The look on Alistair's face softened slightly from when she'd mentioned his late comrade.

"I know you loved him," he sighed, fixing her with that sickeningly empathetic look of his.

"I did **not** love him." The Witch insisted.

"Fine, whatever that - How did you put it? - That 'desire' that 'hunger'-"

"He told you?"

"I was his best friend!" Alistair yelled back, shaking with anger and grief. "Whatever that feeling was - and yes, it's an actual feeling - that's what normal people call 'love'."

"Well I am not normal," she scoffed, turning away.

"But he was," Alistair said softly. "Well, as normal as someone whose grown up in a tower guarded by templars could be, I suppose. But hey, who am I to judge?" The Witch glared at him. "He loved you, Morrigan."

"If that were truly so, than why reject my offer, hmm? I could have saved his life, and all I asked in return was a moment of his time and a child with the soul of an Old God, and my freedom to do with it what I wished of course. By what logic does that seem like an offer not worth accepting? It boggles the mind!" Morrigan raged.

"I can't answer that," he said, and she laughed bitterly at his having responded to a clearly rhetorical question. "And look, I'm sorry that you didn't get your demon baby or whatever, but being angry at him...for what he did for us, and that includes you because even the great Morrigan couldn't slay the archdemon - and don't you dare argue that. Being angry at him for what he did is just unacceptable."

But she was angry. "How dare you tell me what I can and cannot do?" So she decided to be angry at Alistair. "What I felt for him was a weakness and nothing more. Obviously his caring for me was not enough to convince him...He left me with a child, a child that will **not** have the soul of an Old God, but a _normal_ child. I've nowhere to go and now I must raise a child, because of _him_!"

The templar was in shock again. "Wait, what? You're...you're...pregnant? But...how?"

"I should hope your Chantry has explained that to you at least to some capacity," she muttered. "He and I have spent many nights together-"

And suddenly Alistair had his hands covering his ears while he sang at the top of his lungs, "La la la la la!" and it made Morrigan wonder why she was putting up with his company in the first place.

When he finally felt it was once again safe to open his eyes, Morrigan was gone.

Morrigan left Denerim, bound for Orlais. Alistair had said something about how she should say her goodbyes to the mage's corpse while she still had the chance. Well, maybe he'd said it in a more poetic way but still. She knew that there was little point in such things, though she did wonder briefly if the ring she'd given him had been left on the body or if they'd removed it perhaps to put on display or something. Morrigan knew the body of her Warden would soon be mere ashes anyway, but the spirit would continue to reside in the Fade.

Not that she went to bed that night in the filthy inn thinking that maybe she would find him since he too had been a mage and therefore would be self-aware in the Fade. It was possible, but then again a lot of very unlikely things were also considered possible and that didn't mean you went around expecting them to happen; unless you were Leliana.

She walked the warped and distorted lands of the raw Fade as every mage was made to do and as the Witch did every night. Dreamers and spirits walked in some kind of odd formation that she to this day could never figure out. Somehow they never ran into one another, and none of them ever paid her any notice. It was strange that here of all places she was as insignificant was one could be and yet this was where she supposedly belonged.

Then she saw him, or more accurately, his spirit. He looked exactly the same to her, just as she'd last seen him atop of Fort Drakon except less covered in blood.

"My dear Morrigan, I was wondering when you'd get here." He smiled.

She'd known this was possible, so why could she scarcely believe it? Surely seeing him again shouldn't be this difficult, and yet it was.

"You…you fool!" She hissed.

"Ah, I suppose I deserved that." It was all he said.

"So why then?" she demanded. "Why ruin mine and Flemeth's plans? Why sacrifice your own life for a country that has done nothing but treat you like filth? I offer you so much for so little and you deny me? Did you not trust me, I wonder? Did you not trust that the ritual would work or what I would do with the child?" She asked her pointed questions.

"I do trust you, Morrigan. It is Flemeth that I don't trust." The Witch was not swayed. He thought for a moment and said, "Hmm...Do you want the practical answer or the romantic answer?"

Morrigan just glared.

"Very well, the practical answer is this: a Warden had to die. Alistair was king, it was very likely Riordan wouldn't live long enough to take the final blow, and I was just a mage. The odds were against us from the beginning. Mages can't hold titles so even if I lived as a hero I would gain nothing from it, at least a fraction of the population would still see me as just a mage, not to mention it would cause major problems for us all when the other Wardens started asking questions. I'd have to disappear, and what better place than the Fade? I'm sorry, but this is simply how it must be."

The Witch winced at having her own words thrown back at her. "So you did it because you wouldn't get the glory otherwise? You've never let your being a mage hold you back before."

"No, I did it because I was supposed to. It was my job, what I was meant to do, the very reason for my existence. Leliana was right." he said.

"About the Maker…?" Morrigan asked skeptically.

"Not exactly, I certainly haven't seen Him around here anywhere. If He does exist then He's certainly taking His time." the Warden mused. "But more importantly, I haven't told you the romantic answer yet."

"I don't want-"

"I couldn't live without you."

"Oh please, I-"

"I'm serious. I promise you it had nothing to do with your request. You know I too believe some things in this world are worth preserving, especially magical things, but I had no choice." _You always have a choice__,_ Morrigan thought. "Now go; live, raise our child, protect her from the templars until she can protect herself."

"Her?" The apostate questioned.

"I know you hate surprises, so it's a girl. And she will be a mage; but I take it you could guess that given her parentage." She nods. "Now go," he repeats. "I love you."

Morrigan wakes only to find the enchanted ring she had given him on her finger.

_Very subtle..._


	7. The Good Fight

**Title:** The Good Fight  
**Pairing:** f!Warden/Slim Couldry  
**A/N:** Because I loved him in the Crime Wave quest, and I think my Warden did too.

)O(

He knows little more about her aside from her name.

And that is how he likes it.

Not that it even matters, since everyone just calls her 'Warden' anyway. That's what she is, a Grey Warden, just like the heroes of legend; and yet everything but.

He pretends he doesn't care. When she asks him about himself, he says there's nothing to tell really. He also says he knows everything about her he needs to, and that's not entirely true, since he only knows her name. But he _does_ care. She's fighting the good fight, after all, a bloody Grey Warden...

It's a healthy partnership, for a time.

But Slim begins to notice things, little things he shouldn't be.

First it's the rage in her eyes, the passion that mirrors his own, when they speak of the nobility - Maker spit on those sodding bastards - Then it's the way those same eyes gleam as she skips merrily towards him after robbing some unsuspecting lord half-blind. And how she smiles...

But one day she doesn't.

"They took the Wardens to Fort Drakon," he is told, and Slim knows he should not care. Mostly because she will be fine, he has no reason to doubt that, and it isn't his business anyway. But he can't ignore the way his heart races, especially the one time that it _is_ his fault, because he realizes he has unknowingly sent her into a trap.

He's thrilled to see her alive, but something's changed about his Warden. She seems tired, pale, perhaps even a bit thinner...and she certainly isn't smiling.

He never really makes it up to her, at least not enough, the gold is repaid and eventually the Tears of Andraste are returned to their rightful owner. She decides to give them to the Chantry, not because it's the right thing to do but because no merchant would even touch an item like that without first asking where they came from, and anyone who would be willing to do so probably couldn't afford to pay even a fraction of what they were worth. Besides, what practical use is there for a vial of ancient tears?

It isn't even about the money anymore.

"So now that I'm the Dark Wolf," she says one day out of the blue, "how about you buy me dinner?"

It's the last thing he ever expected to hear, but it would be rude to refuse a woman of her...reputation. They walk the 'secret' way - through dark alleys and abandoned buildings - to a tavern on the docks, blending in with the shadows. But it isn't enough and they are discovered by a handful of city guards who had been waiting for them.

She makes quick work of the men, insisting that she's _not_ going back there without a fight.

And fight she does; like a stray cat, quick and clever; dangerous and yet somehow beautiful...

"So where did you learn to fight like that?' he asks once they've made it to the dark tavern where people like them are treated like royalty.

The Warden - or should he say Dark Wolf? - considers her response. "A friend of a friend," she replies.

"And you're not going to tell me this person's name, are you?"

"A name has power, yes?" She sips her ale thoughtfully. "She says the art of a duelist takes years to master, but I _could_ teach you what I've learned of it so far...for a price."

"Well I am buying you dinner." Slim points out.

"True..."

"So you'll do it?"

"Yes, but first, you will honor me with a game." A thin smile spreads across her lips.

He raises in eyebrow.

"I wonder..." The gleam in her eye is different now, maybe even devious. "Have you ever played Wicked Grace?"

Slim Couldry is going to regret this.


	8. Hope

**Title:** Hope

**Pairing:** None. I know, I can't believe it either!

**A/N:** Just a brief look into the tale of Natia Brosca.

**Be warned:** contains some description of abuse.

)O(

The name meant 'hope' in some old and now long forgotten language. Natia knows that much.

At least Mama had the decency not to drink while she was pregnant with her. Which wasn't easy, especially since the man who was _supposed_ to be her father left them for the surface. Mama had no time for her then; she was either drunk or trying to get drunk. Rica began hiding whatever coin they manage to scrape up, just so it may go towards food instead of ale.

Natia learns not to cry. She learns to curl up in a ball when Mama hits her, and to lie about the bruises should anyone happen to ask, though they rarely ever do. She learns to be silent and still, and swears by her criminal ancestors that one day she will learn how to fight back.

Rica tells her Mama doesn't mean to hurt her, she doesn't mean the things she says. Rica tells her it's the bitterness and the ale talking, not really Mama, because she wasn't always so angry. In fact there was a time before Natia was born that Mama was happy. And Rica assures her little sister that it isn't her fault.

But Rica says a lot of things that haven't always held true.

Still, she is more like a mother to her than Kalah Brosca ever could be. Whenever Orzammar, or Dust Town, or Mama, tries to tell Natia she is worthless and will never be more than just a brand, Rica insists otherwise. If it weren't for that, she might actually start to believe the things that the rest of the world accepts as simple truths.

One day Natia would feel guilty that she was the reason her sister's childhood had to end at such an early age, but for now, in what little innocence her young mind still pocesses, all she knows for certain is that she loves Rica and Rica loves her.

It isn't a surprise when Natia figures out where her sister has been going at night, Rica always was the pretty one. One of the only ways a casteless dwarf could make anything of themselves was to marry into a higher caste and bare a child of their spouse's gender, thus sealing the deal. Noble hunters, as they were called, were respected to some capacity. They gave birth to sons and daughters of Orzammar, and were accepted in much the same way as one who had been nobility all their lives, all past crimes forgiven, even a place in the Memories. Some noble hunters even went as far as to change their name.

"Who is this man, Mama?" Natia asked, her brown eyes studying the unfamiliar dwarf in their home.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not polite to stare?" the grumpy dwarf whispered quite dangerously.

"He's your new daddy!" Kalah laughed. "You're gonna do some...favors for him."

The man's name was Beraht, and little did she know, he would come to be the bane of her existence. Unfortunately, he was also the primary reason for it.

"Mama, I don't want to work for him." Natia should know better than to say such things out loud, but she is still a child, after all.

"Listen, you ungrateful little brat, your sister's out there everyday selling herself - the one sodding thing she has to call her own - to the very same nobles who work so hard to keep it that way. Now I don't want to hear one word from you, I think you're old enough to start pullin' your own weight around here." She strikes her just to get the point across. "And you're lucky Rica's always stuck up for you, 'cause I'd have put you out there with her if you'd had the body for it. You were born with one coin to barter, honey, and it's between your legs."

No; it wasn't true. She refused to believe it. She refused...

But Natia had to make do. She had to make do with her tangled and unkempt red hair, dirt-smudged face, and of course the brand that marked her fate from birth: announcing to all of Orzammar that _she was nothing._

And so she learns to keep her mouth shut, eyes down, daggers ready. She does what Beraht orders, or else...

Natia never had been very popular, but she did have one friend - her best friend for as long as she cared to remember - Leske. He didn't see her as a woman: he saw her as a partner.

They were both stuck under Beraht's thumb, his to do with them what he liked, and he made sure they knew their place: they were nothing. She stays for the sake of her family, fear of what Beraht would do to them, love for the scraps he is merciful enough to provide. She stays because she must, because there is nothing else; that is how it was supposed to be anyway. Her father left and Natia liked to believe he was dead.

There was _supposed_ to be no way out.

Unless you counted what Rica had to do, but she didn't like to think about it.

Yet despite that, somehow Natia had hope. It was a numb kind of hope. Like the illusion of a dim light at the end of a long tunnel; you're not sure if you really saw it or not but you don't care because it is hope and that's something.

It was hope that kept Natia from becoming like her mother.

And that hope would be rewarded.


	9. Freedom

**Title:** Freedom

**Pairing:** f!Amell/Alistair/Anders

**A/N:** How I think being King Alistair's mistress would have gone.

)O(

"No one can make the king do anything he doesn't want to."

You made him king. That was the right thing to do, even knowing that the nobles would never accept a mage as their queen. But those words are purely selfish. You do it out of passion and lust, because you are young and naïve, and you can't imagine life without him. You have all these fantasies about being the king's mistress - thanks to _those_ books at the Tower - and in them everything is how it was before: you are free.

In truth, it is nothing like you pictured it. There is no passion, no lust. You lie awake in a dark room while he is fast asleep beside you, exhausted from the days work and your…_exertions_ together.

You must be careful not to be too loud unless there's a guard placed at the door who can keep a secret.

That's what you are: a secret...his dirty little secret.

And that's only on the good days.

On other days, like when he has a meeting, he dresses frantically and keeps missing buttons. It doesn't help that his hands are shaking. You move to help him, your body still tangled in the sheets. And then, mumbling his thanks and something about loving you, he disappears.

Finding the low-cut robe he'd bought you lying on the floor, you slip it on and stare at the hideous wallpaper. It's all hearts and roses…mocking you.

It is the reason you stayed, the reason you keep coming back; because you have nowhere else to go. The Tower is not a home. And even though you hate to admit it, your heart still flutters when he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, aching to believe.

But the words that speak true are the ones you don't say.

You never tell him that you think about leaving sometimes.

And he doesn't tell you about his wife, or his daughter, or how happy he is.

Arl Eamon is speaking, and your name comes up more than once. Pressing your ear against the cold wood of the door, you try to listen in on the conversation, but the rapid beating of your heart makes it difficult.

Alistair is defending you.

"...I don't care, Eamon, I _love_ her. You of all people should understand that. Didn't everyone say you shouldn't marry Lady Isolde because she was Orlesian?"

"That was different, Alistair. I was not the king and Isolde was not-"

"-A mage? People hated Orlesians almost as much as they do mages."

"Be that as it may, their hatred runs deep, but their fear runs deeper." There is a pause.

"I don't believe it," Alistair speaks quietly, and you can hear the victorious smile in his voice. "You're _afraid_ of her!"

"Alistair..." the Arl sighs.

"I knew it! This isn't about the nobility at all, is it? It's about _you_!"

"No; this is about her and the queen. Is this really fair to either of them? Is it really fair to allow yourself this kind of...distraction?"

"Don't..."

"I have to, Alistair, someone has to remind you of your duty. You have a responsibility to your country and your family-"

"-_Don't_." the king hisses back. "Don't you think I know that? None of this is fair. What _about_ me? What _about_ her? I owe that woman everything and I can't just tell her to go away. She has done more for this nation than you or anyone else. Look, I never asked to be king, but I am, and no one can make me do anything I don't want to."

Magic swells up inside of you, deep in your veins, warm and exciting...

And suddenly you remember why you fell in love, and why you stay.

It hurts the most when you're alone, on the nights he spends with his _real_ family. Though he assures you that he would rather be where you are, because he still loves you just enough to lie. It may have taken time but he cares for the queen, and of course he loves his child. But where does that leave you?

Sitting alone in a tavern…too drunk to remember what you came here to forget.

All you know for sure is that you've hit rock bottom.

Eventually you can't bear to see him because he's lost that mirth in his eyes. And you can smell another woman's scent on him; flowery and imported from a distant land.

You gather all your courage and leave when the realization hits that you simply aren't happy anymore.

Maybe you'll find that distant land.

And it's just a coincidence that you are called away to Amaranthine to be the new Warden-Commander.

And it's just a coincidence that you happen to meet someone who reminds you so much of _him_, even though this one is a mage who hates the Circle almost as much as you do and values his freedom above all else.

The longer you spend away from Alistair, the happier you are.

You trade one addiction for another.

"So do you have any plans tonight?" Alistair asks. He'd come here on official business, but you've actually enjoyed his company more than you thought you would.

You have found yourself, and no one – not even _him_ – can take that away from you.

"Actually," you reply with a smirk, "I have a date."

The king chokes on his wine.

"A date...?" he manages at last. "With…who…?"

Just then there is a knock at the door. It is Anders of course. He hands you a dozen roses and Alistair falls out of his chair in shock. You are smiling so wide that your lips actually hurt.

"You're not really…with him…are you?"

"Your Majesty," the mage smiles, "I do believe we've met before."

"Oh yes, I remember who you are, _apostate_."

_Templar_. Thankfully, the word does not leave his tongue. A gentle squeeze to the arm is enough to remind him that Alistair is still the king, and therefore still has the power to make his life miserable.

"That's _Grey Warden_ to you." he says instead. "Or just Anders, you know whatever you prefer, I'm not picky."

Alistair turns his gaze to you, and suddenly you can't speak. His eyes are pleading with you to stay, telling you he loves you, that he _always_ loved you. But you force yourself to remember how unhappy you were with him towards the end. And you know now that things will never be like when it was just the two of you against the world.

"My lady…?" Anders is waiting by the door, beckoning for you to follow. So you turn, and do not look back.

And you are free at last.


	10. The Girl With The Golden Mirror

**Title:** The Girl With The Golden Mirror  
**Pairing:** None!  
**A/N:** As there seems to be a few re-tellings of Morrigan's first adventure outside of the Wilds, I thought I'd throw my hat in as well. This is just an idea that was nagging at me for the longest time.

)O(

For the majority of her years, Morrigan was content with her forest home. It was her safe haven; its creatures became her friends; its chaotic nature quickly taught the young Witch a great many things. Most of them harsh lessons, but lessons all the same. She took to observation; spending hours watching a small animal inch its way along the forest floor, searching for a meal, only to have a much larger creature snatch it up in its jaws before it even had a chance to fight back.

She watched these creatures, studying them until she could become as they were.

Survival of the fittest.

And Flemeth of course was the embodiment of these teachings. She was the essence of the Wilds itself; the power of a great beast trapped within the body of an old woman; frigid and unforgiving.

Yet even with the lessons provided to her by both Flemeth and the Wilds, Morrigan was still relatively innocent. She knew nothing of the danger she and her mother faced everyday. She knew nothing of the Chantry, or apostates, or maleficarum. All she knew was that sometimes strange men in plate armor and skirts would come after them, and she was to scream and run and lure them to their death by Flemeth's waiting hands.

It was a game to her, and it was fun for a time.

The Wilds were familiar. Morrigan knew every flower, toad, and tree. What she knew nothing of however were villages, cities, large buildings, all sorts of different people all living together. These things made her curious, and coupled with Mother's tales of the world of men, even made her daring.

"You must never venture beyond the Wilds," Flemeth had told her.

So Morrigan stayed to the shadows, disguised as a cat, and crept to the edges of existence.

It was a small village, with simple people and simple things. But it was the sheer quantity of things that shocked her. Wooden houses all squished together, more people than she'd ever seen before, and not one plant or blade of grass.

So this was a human city?

Morrigan observed them as she did the animals, never fully grasping their behavior. Studying them only led to more questions.

Then something changed. The people moved to either side of the road as the sound of hooves and wheels on an unsteady terrain drew closer. Finally she could see it: a grand carriage, pulled by two magnificent horses, painted in bright colors that signified the owner's noble status. Colors so pure and vibrant Morrigan had never dreamed of because they did not exist in the Korcari Wilds.

Slowly the carriage came to a stop, allowing her to see it more clearly. A woman emerged, clad in fine silks that Morrigan longed to touch. Though the image of herself in such a garment was almost as amusing as it was impractical. The young Witch gathered the courage to move closer, still in animal form, until she found herself looking into the carriage proper.

There were many fine things here; jewels as well as flowers, not like the ones in the forest which usually possessed some sort of deadly poison, these flowers were too pretentious and fragile; and of course there were more splendid silks. But by far the fairest item of all was a mirror poking out of the noblewoman's purse. It was bright as the sun and beckoned to her, daring her...

Flemeth didn't allow such things. She hated mirrors, and thus the only time Morigan ever got a glimpse at her own reflection was in the murky waters of a puddle or shallow stream, alone in the woods. She knew that Mother had once been beautiful, and that human children were made to believe she would steal their youth through their looking glass if they did not do as they were told.

Morrigan harbored no desire to take her mother's place, even if it was expected of her. For as long as she could remember, Flemeth had told her tales that gave her nightmares, and then scolded the little girl for it.

And, as any child would, Morrigan found herself desperately wanting the trinket if only because Mother had forbade it.

"Oh aren't you a pretty kitty..."

A voice startled Morrigan. It was the woman in silk. Instinctively, she hissed, causing the lady to cry out and back away almost too gracefully.

"Well, I see what you are now!" she accused. "You're a _stray_. You're a dirty little stray. I can see why no one wants you. You're probably diseased and-"

Morrigan shifted back into her human form, shocking the woman into silence.

"You were saying?"

She decided then that if she was already going to be found out, she might as well get what she came for.

"Thief!" the noblewoman screamed. "Don't let her escape!"

A crowd gathered immediately. "She's a Witch!" "Apostate!", "Blood mage!" voices accused with a mixture of fear and disdain, "Somebody call the templars!" another cried.

Morrigan made a run for it, clutching the mirror to her chest. She left a wall of fire behind her, buying some time if nothing else, as she made her way back to the safety of the Korcari Wilds.

Her heart was pounding, mana drained from casting the spell, muscles aching...

But she had won, she had survived, and that was all that mattered.

It was getting dark by the time she returned to their current home. She and Mother had lived here undisturbed by the templars for a few months, but after today, it was only a matter of time before the Chantry sent more after them and they would have to move again.

"Greetings, Mother."

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"Do not lie to me, girl. I taught you everything you know. You can't hide anything from me." Her eyes darkened. "You left the Wilds today." It wasn't a question.

"No, Mother."

"_Do not_ lie to me!" She could feel the rage boiling in Mother's veins, and it was times like this when Morrigan wondered just how much of Flemeth was human. Still, admitting to it now wouldn't make the beating any more bearable.

"I did not leave the Wilds, Mother."

"You want fine things, do you? You want to dress up in silks and prance about like the queen of Ferelden?" She folded her arms and scoffed. "Beauty is fleeting. One moment you are the envy of women and the desire of men, to the point that kings wage wars over you, men will be unfaithful to their wives, some will even die for you. But then you wake up one day and 'tis gone and you _grow up_." Flemeth pursed her lips. "You are beautiful, Morrigan, but you are also innocent and foolish. You risk too much. You could have been killed and then I-"

She stopped mid-sentence and held out her hand.

"I did not leave the Wilds." Morrigan whispered, her head spinning.

"We can do this the easy way if you like, but this is for your own good, and it must be done. One day you shall understand and you will thank me."

She hoped that day would never come.

Her golden orbs spoke volumes of just how much she did not understand.

Morrigan shook her head. "I did not leave the Wilds!" she repeated.

Flemeth caught a glint of gold out of the corner of her eye. She was faster than she looked, and pried the mirror from her daughter's possession.

"You should be more grateful!" The mirror smashed upon the ground, shattering like the fragile thing it was, and taking her heart with it. All her hopes and dreams, and Morrigan's childlike innocence were lying at her feet.

Flemeth continued to scream at her but Morrigan was no longer listening; she was floating to the moon...

And for a while she cried, not only for the mirror but the piece of her heart that had broken along with it.

She gets a little older. And with age comes wisdom, then maturity, and freedom. Mother trusts her enough to go beyond the Wilds, if only to the closest village. She never roams too far after that day however.

Though secretly, Morrigan wanted to experience the world; mountains and oceans and large cities, like the capital of Orlais.

And when Flemeth sends her away in the company of the Grey Wardens, it is not how she wished it to be, but she has no choice.

Morrigan does not have ot say the words.

Her mother smiles and whispers, "You are welcome."


	11. Do You Want To Know A Secret?

**Title:** Do You Want To Know A Secret?

**Pairing:** Leliana/Marjolaine/M!Cousland.

**A/N:** Spoilers for Leliana's Song DLC.

)O(

Ever since her mother died, Leliana had been searching for someone to love her unconditionally.

The only thing she had left of the woman who had brought her into this world was a flower known as Andraste's Grace.

There was of course Lady Cecile, a kind and strong woman who raised Leliana even though she didn't have to. She told the little girl the same tales and legends her mother had. Her nobility went beyond power and wealth: Cecile had a heart of gold.

But like everyone else, Lady Cecile died eventually. Her heart - golden or otherwise - finally gave out and Leliana felt so alone in the world. She made her living as a minstrel on the streets of Orlais, regaling passersby with the tales she had so loved as a child, and passing herself off as a lady when need be.

She had nothing.

And then somehow she found Marjolaine, or Marjolaine found her, this part of the tale isn't so clear. But Marjolaine is good to her. In time she teaches Leliana how to fight, how to be quick on her toes, how to pick locks, when to remain in the shadows and when it is not so bad to be seen.

Leliana is not stupid: she knows exactly what she is getting herself into. It is a clearly defined relationship. They are more than partners but less than actual lovers; master and slave, owner and pet, mentor and student. Marjolaine even refers to Leliana as her 'pretty thing'. It is an endearment, and yet it also serves as proof that Leliana is an object, a possession that belongs to her. Even if she is a pretty thing, she is a thing nonetheless.

But Leliana stays because it is exciting. The life of a bard, instigators of the Game who move through the shadows and cater to its players. She must remain neutral in all things. Leliana knows her place; she would gladly steal, lie, and kill for Marjolaine if it was asked of her.

And so it hurts more than words can say when the dominatrix literally stabs her in the back.

Suddenly Leliana doesn't want to be like her anymore. She wants to be like good Lady Cecile...

But she is the victim made out ot be a traitor.

Marjolaine had always said that religious people were weak and easily manipulated. And so even as she lies crumpled on the stone floor, sobbing quietly, Leliana does not pray. Even though she has been here for the past week, suffered daily beatings by the guards who heal her just enough to keep her alive and only so they can do it again tomorrow. Even though she has nothing, Leliana will not break, she will not cry out to some uncaring god, throw herself at the mercy of another just so she can end up alone again.

She wants out.

Out of this cell, out of this country, out of this life...

And out of nowhere, a voice whispers to her. The accent is Orlesian and at first she thinks it is...No, she will not even speak the name.

But it is not her anyway.

"Who are you?"

"A friend," the voice answers.

"And what do you want? You'll have to excuse me if I am a little wary of people who claim they are my friend."

"I want to give you the means to help yourself. You can still save the others. And you will never be at peace until you hear from her lips the reason why she has betrayed you."

"I don't need any help. I didn't need her kind of help, and I don't need you."

"Then prove it. You have too many enemies as it is. Do not say something you might regret."

Memories flashed through her mind.

. . .

_She sat on the steps of the Grand Cathedral, the Chant of Light continuously pouring out from within and mixing with the music of the city as well as her own._

_"You are lost, no?"_

_"I..." She gazed up to see a woman standing there. Leliana ceased her playing and shook her head. "No..."_

_"Ah, but I think you are." The stranger smiled. "Come, I can give you so much more than this."_

_"It isn't wise to go with strangers."_

_She laughed. "Well then I can at least offer you a little something for that lovely song. What was it by the way?"_

_Leliana blushed. "It's just a love song," she admitted._

_"Ah." The woman handed her some silver and a note with her address on it. She never stopped to wonder why it was Marjolaine carried a business card._

. . .

_"It is all a Game, you see; for fun."_

_"I like games!"_

_"But we are not its players. We do not care who wins or loses. It is they who keep score."_

_. . ._

_"Do it now!"_

_She'd never killed anyone before. He was kneeling before her, begging for his life and praying for mercy, while Marjolaine yelled that more guards were coming. And yes, she could hear the alarms...They had to run._

_But for some reason she could not move the dagger any closer._

_She glanced back at Marjolaine, summoned all her strength, and stabbed the man in the heart._

_She did not look back as the body slumped to the ground, blood spilling from the wound as he gasped for breath..._

_Leliana loved the hunt, but she did not relish its inevitable end. The Queen of the Hunt, Marjoaline, showed her there was beauty in that part as well.  
_

_"All things must end," she said. "You've done well, my pretty thing."_

_. . ._

_"I've lost friends to treason, Marjolaine. They hang you in the streets...I don't want that to happen to you."_

_"Oh, you are worried about me now? Very well, if it will put your mind at ease, I will alter my plans."_

_"Thank you!"_

_But the other woman held a finger to her lips to silence her._

_"Know this, Leliana: there is always a price to be paid. You must be prepared for that. Whatever the cost, you must be ready. You will be strong, yes? You will not let me down after all I have given you."_

_"As long as it means you are safe, I don't care, I would do anything."_

_Marjolaine circled around her and whispered in her ear, "This is why you are my favorite."_

. . .

She'd known the entire time, even warned Leliana of the inevitable, the cost of saving her own life.

"You can do this," the voice from above stated. "You owe it to yourself."

But she didn't want to. She shouldn't have to. And yet, she was.

Leliana knew better...

She would avenge them...

She would not stop...

"We could kill them all," Sketch had said, "...and it wouldn't change anything."

And maybe he was right, but she just wanted out. Maybe she'd just have to free herself this time.

)O(

"I lied to you, you know, when I said I did not seek Marjolaine out."

"Oh?" He looked at her strangely. They still didn't talk about that. Both their pasts had caught up to them in a matter of days. He killed his betrayer, and she let hers walk away.

"I did once..."

)O(

"You and I..." Marjolaine says as they stand a little too close to the edge, watching the fog drift over the Waking Sea, "...we are the same, no?"

"No."

Leliana was done. She didn't want to play anymore. That was her choice, even if it meant she could never again cross the sea and return home to Val Royeaux.

There were no winners in this Game, only quitters. And if this made her one of them then so be it.

"No? I thought that was what you wanted: to be just like me. You would have betrayed me sooner or later, because that is what I would have done, and I taught you well. It is not so bad, is it? Everyone has to survive after all."

"Not like this, Marjolaine..."

"Oh, my poor pretty thing, so tired..."

"No!" She backed away from the cliff and away from Marjolaine's arms. "I am not yours anymore. What you have done is unforgivable!"

"Haven't I taught you better than that, Leliana?"

"You don't even care, do you?" Leliana will not let herself fall. "I loved you, Marjolaine, and you just used me until it stopped being fun for you!"

"No, Leliana," the bard spoke softly, "I _made_ you. You were nothing. You would still be nothing were it not for me."

But she allows her to walk away, even though in the depths of her heart Leliana knows this is far from over.

For two years she stays at Lothering's chantry, but the Maker works in mysterious ways, and she must say goodbye to Dorothea. The Revered Mother who had helped her escape from prison so long ago. The only person who knew her almost as well as Marjolaine herself.

Yet even when she is presented with a chance to kill her former master, Leliana allows her to walk away as well, because to kill her now would prove that she was right and that Leliana was just like her.

)O(

"Do you want to know a secret?"

Even as she lies beside him - her lover, her Warden, her friend - Leliana wonders in the very deepest depths of her mind when he too will leave her. But unlike the others, he never does. He is Ferelden nobility and she knows his heart.

"Of course I do."

He whispers in her ear, "I love you."

"That's hardly a secret, is it?" Leliana smirks. "I love you, too."

And yet she is still a little afraid to call this a happy ending.


	12. Soul Mates

**Title:** Soul Mates  
**Pairing:** None  
**A/N:** This is sort of the beginning of a story I may or may not continue writing.

)O(

Before he even knew what was happening, Nicholas was snatched from the world of his book by a voice. But this wasn't Nan's shrill call for him to get back inside, it was a small and high-pitched tone.

"What are you doing?"

His eyes found the fair haired girl who was suddenly standing in front of him. She looked to be about five, and her bright blue eyes had grown wide with curiosity. Normally he would tell her to go away so that he could get back to his book, but Mother and Father had said it was important for him to be more social. Nicholas was eight-years-old and thus still listened to his parents.

"Reading," he replied.

"Oh..." Now the girl seemed even more fascinated, "What about?"

He held up the book up for her to inspect the gold lettering that adorned its cover, but she merely stared and fidgeted nervously.

"'_The Saga of Dane and the Werewolf_,'" he told her. Perhaps she was too young to have learned how to read, or maybe too poor. She _was_ dressed in rather simple clothing. "Do you know that story?" She shook her head. "Well, why don't you come and sit with me and I'll read to you?" At this, her face lit up, but she didn't move. "What's the matter?" Nicholas asked.

"Daddy says I'm not to trust humans." The words were very stern, most likely not her own. It was something she'd overheard or been taught but never fully understood.

"And your mother?" he queried.

"Killed by humans…"

That was when he noticed the tip of one of her pointed ears peeking out from beneath a mass of blond curls. And then he understood.

"My name's Nicholas." he said. "And you are?"

"Meri..." the elf answered meekly.

"Hm; is that short for something?"

"Yes." He never did find out what.

"I'm sorry about your mother by the way..."

"Oh, it's okay. Daddy says she died a hero. But I guess no one will be writing any books about her, huh?" The sadness etched onto her delicate features was almost unbearable.

He wasn't sure how to answer that. No amount of reading could prepare him for this kind of situation. Odd things always seemed to happen in Denerim. Suddenly he missed his family's castle in Highever, and hated the Landsmeet that brought them here. He supposed Meri hailed from Denerim's Alienage. There was no such place back home. Elves lived among humans well enough, but never equally, always as servant and master. Even in his castle.

"Here;" He handed her the book. It was one Nicholas had read many times already. Maybe someday she would get more use out of it, even if it was just to sell it for a silver.

Meri accepted the gift hesitantly, scanning the lines of text that to her could mean just about anything. She thanked him and ran back down the stone path, beaming.

_Let me sing of heroes and honor lost and found,  
Of monsters and men in all forms..._

)O(

"I know that woman."

Fergus glanced over in the direction of the waitress. She had blue eyes and curls the color of sand. He whistled approvingly.

"Well are you going to introduce me?" Fergus' voice was thick from ale. "She is quite a fine wench."

"You're lucky I don't tell Oriana you said that." Nicholas smirked, knowing his brother would never really be unfaithful to his wife. "What happens in Denerim, stays in Denerim."

They both took a long sip of ale, putting the Landsmeet out of mind.

"You know, I'm shocked I was able to drag you away from your precious books long enough to have a drink with me." Fergus remarked. Teasing his little bother was one of the highlights of his life. He would never understand Nicholas' love for literature, just as Nicholas never understood what was so great about swordplay.

"Anything for you, dear brother." he responded sarcastically, but his gaze was still fixed on the elven waitress as she made her rounds through the tavern. There was something so familiar about her. That's when he realized she was walking towards their table.

"Can I get you anything else, gentlemen?" she asked, her tone meek but giving the impression that it was just an act.

"No. But thank you, miss." Nicholas said politely. Her cheeks colored slightly…._Also an act?_

She turned to leave, stopped suddenly, and turned back to face them. "What?" the elf demanded, clearly distressed. "No pat on the ass? No snide comment? I thought to myself, 'Well surely they must want _something_.' but no. You've been staring at me all night. I don't care for these games, ser. Maybe you'll have better luck at the Pearl."

Nicholas was taken aback. Even Fergus had been stunned into silence.

Yes, all an act.

"Meri," a voice that reminded him of Nan barked. "Stop harassing the customers and get back to work!"

"Harassing the...?" But the rage melted from her features as quickly as it had came and she looked at the sickeningly green carpet. "Yes, Edwina; I'm sorry, my lords. Please forgive my outburst. It's been a long night."

"Wait," Nicholas said, "I have a question for you."

"Ask away."

"Have you ever read _'The Saga of Dane and the Werewolf'_?"

Her expression went from puzzlement to shock in a split second. She knew.

"It's you..." she breathed. "I can't believe it."

They exchanged pleasantries and Meri insisted that she really must be getting back to work. But after her shift, they agreed to meet. So Nicholas and Fergus sat in the corner of the tavern for a time, until Fergus announced that he was going to return to the estate. And then there were two.

The Gnawed Noble Tavern was closing up for the night. Meri had almost finished washing the last of the tables, aside from his own of course. He concentrated on the book he was reading.

"Hey Meri, I got a job for you if you're interested." the bartender told her quite loudly. Nicholas began to feel as if they'd forgotten he was present.

"Not tonight," she replied wearily.

"You sure…? It's an easy one. Poor bastard got himself killed in a dispute over some whore over at the Pearl. All you have to do is clean up the mess. Make sure the authorities don't get involved. This kind of thing is below you, I know, but that's life."

"Not tonight," Meri repeated a little harshly this time.

"All right," the bartender relented. "Your loss…"

Nicholas hadn't seen her in years, but he just couldn't picture the elf doing something like _that_.

"Thank the Maker my shift is over." Meri sighed as she approached his table and took a seat across from him. Nicholas shut his book and looked at her carefully. Her hair color had dulled over the years. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked older than she was, and he knew that she was only three years younger than him.

"Isn't it amazing," she started, smiling for the first time, "that our paths have crossed again?"

"Maybe it's fate." Nicholas suggested.

Meri laughed.

"You know, _'Dane and the Werewolf'_ is my favorite book."

"Glad to hear it," he smiled back.

'Your brother is quite charming." she observed, changing the subject.

"Yes, well, he's also quite married."

"Oh." This time the reddening of her cheeks was real. "I see. I'm getting married, too. All I know is that my betrothed is an elf from Highever."

This news came as a shock to him. He did not know much about the city elves' marriage customs. He certainly didn't know they practiced arranged matches. Such things were commonplace among the nobility, he supposed they must have their reasons as well. Still, he couldn't picture Meri destined for a life of domestic complacency. That just wasn't her, at least not when she was five. Maybe things had changed.

"I see."

"And you?"

"Am I married? No. With Fergus married there's less pressure on me to...carry on the family line. Maybe I just haven't met the right person, I don't know."

"What do you think the chances are my father picked the right person for me?" she wondered.

"Well that depends on if you're one of those people who believe that the Maker binds our souls to just one other person, and that you have to find them to be truly happy."

She looked down at the table. "Would you hate me if I said I was?"

"Of course not," Nicholas answered without hesitation. "My parents are like that. It's why they want us to marry for love, not politics. Fergus wedded an Antivan woman, which is practically unheard of among most noble families." He paused. "And maybe they're not exactly soul mates, but he loves her. That's all that matters. Perhaps this person will be your soul mate. If not, no one can force you to love him. It won't be easy, but it can be done. There are worse fates."

He dreaded saying it, but it was the truth.

Meri shook her head. "No, I won't be stuck in a loveless marriage. But I can't leave either. I have family here. Granted, I can't even tell you how many times I've thought about running away to join the Dalish or hopping aboard Isabela's ship and seeing the world but..."

She trailed off, and the silence lingered between them.

"You should smile."

"What?"

"It will make you feel better."

She laughed. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Absolutely not: it's been proven."

"Well, I should get home. Elves aren't supposed to be out this late."

They parted ways outside of the tavern, he to his estate and she to her humble dwelling with its protective yet imposing stone walls.

Little did they know their hearts would one day be consumed by vengeance…In time, fate would cross their paths again, and the destiny they shared would be remembered for generations to come. But for now they thought only of the near future, his mind preoccupied with the Landsmeet and hers with the impending marriage. No more talk of soul mates and heroes, not tonight.

Not tonight.


	13. Grief Of All Kinds

**Title:** Grief Of All Kinds

**Pairing:** None

**A/N:** Part two of Nicholas and Meri's story.

)O(

She sat on the floor of her cell in Fort Drakon, head leaning against the stone wall enough so that the light streamed in through her swollen eyelids. It was in sharp contrast to the darkness of this place; a blinding white glow that somehow offered hope. After everything, Meri wanted very much to cry. She'd done the just thing and now would pay for it with her life. She looked down at her bloodied wedding dress and idly twisted the rng on her finger, awaiting the end.

The whole thing had left her emotionally and physically drained.

It was so surreal. The reality of her betrothed's broken body had not yet set in. The sound of Vaughan's taunting laughter still rang in her ears. When she closed her eyes, all Meri could see was Shianni, naked and violated, her tear-streaked face as she pleaded to be taken home.

But the guards didn't care about any of that. Even though Meri had given herself up willingly, they _still_ beat her.

"Bloody knife-ears," one of them cursed, "I had friends who patrolled the Arl's estate, you know."

"Only the servants were spared," the second guard added. "They say she even gutted the Mabari."

"That's practically treason, it is!"

"I don't even know why we have to wait for the Arl to get back from Ostagar. She should hang for this, publicly, so all her little friends can watch. _That's_ justice."

They were perfectly content to talk about her as if she wasn't there.

Meri could already feel the rope around her neck. It seemed to tighten and she touched her throat, panicking as she was captured by a deep sleep. The kind of rest one can only experience after days of utter exhaustion.

When she awoke, the light of day did not shine through the small barred window any longer. Torches illuminated the hall instead, casting strange shadows that danced just for her.

The food they had brought her while she slept was cold now. Meri picked at it absently, only because she was starving and at a loss for what else to do. The night watchmen were dozing at their posts. For a moment she considered trying to escape. But even if she was successful, where would she go? Meri could not return home lest she put Soris and everyone else in danger.

Maybe she'd seek out the Dalish or sail the seas as a pirate on the _Siren's Call_. Somehow she would manage to evade the humans' skewed idea of what was justice.

Meri had lost everything; her family, her job at the tavern..._everything._

Morning came slowly. Gray light crept in her window, the night watch were replaced by new guardsmen, and Meri was given breakfast. The hours passed much the same way as they had in days previous.

"I don't wish her to be executed either, but surely you must know how serious the charges against her are."

"I do, and I am certain she had good reason for what she did. If Meri is anything like her mother then she will make an excellent Grey Warden. I have no doubt of that."

_What? _

The two figures stood with the bars separating her and them. What could they want with a murderer? They were both very tall, but one was darker and wore incredibly shiny armor.

"My name is Duncan," he said. "I have taken the liberty of conscripting you into my order. You see, I lead the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden."

"You fight darkspawn." Meri stated.

"That's right. There is a Blight coming, Meri, and we will need all the help we can get to defeat it."

"I'm no warrior." the elf muttered.

"The Wardens accept all kinds. Warriors, criminals, mages, even kings. We're not judges. We will not deny anyone because of their race, gender, or social status. Whatever you have done doesn't matter: it's in the past. What matters is the choice you make now."

"Please, Meri, listen to him." The voice was so quiet and desperate she wasn't sure it was even _his_. But it was.

"Nicholas?" she exclaimed, smiling due to the sheer irony of the situation. "Well, now you've seen me in my element."

"You are _not_ a criminal." he insisted.

_You're right: Vaughan was._ That is what she thought, but not what she said.

"Oh? You barely know me." Not even Meri knew where all this bitterness was coming from, or why she was directing it at him. Part of her wanted to believe he was like all the others. He was no better than the men that had hurt Shianni, the ones who had murdered Nola and Nelaros in cold blood because they valued the lives of dogs over the lives of elves.

"I know you wouldn't do something like this without sufficient provocation." Sometimes she hated Nicholas and his big words. "I know you have a good heart."

"They have no intention of giving you a fair trial. You know this, don't you?" The Grey Warden was speaking again, gentle yet firm. "If you let them win now, it will all have been for nothing."

She looked away. "And you're not one of them?"

"No."

Meri agreed to go with them to Ostagar. Neither she nor Nicholas spoke of their pain, though they could see it in the other's eyes. She wanted to hate him because he was a noble, but she couldn't. They had every right to be angry at the world.

They never talked about it, not yet. it was through rumors that she found out what had happened in Highever.

"The castle nearly burned to the ground." a merchant told a local woman.

"Maker's Breath, that's awful! Are there any survivors at all?"

"A few, they can't account for all the bodies, but the Couslands are likely all dead save for the eldest son, Fergus. He had left for Ostagar that night. If he lives through the battle he'll return only to find his entire family killed."

"Do you think it was a planned attack, perhaps by a rival lord?"

"Are you kidding? Everyone loved Bryce Cousland and his family. The only rival he had was the Orlesians. Great sodding time though. We're dealing with darkspawn and then this happens. I swear it sounds like the end of the world if you ask me."

Meri held her breath, forgetting for a moment her own tragedy. She didn't know whether or not she should say something. Maybe he would open up if she did it first. Or maybe they both just needed time to heal.

"He wasn't my soul mate." she blurted out. "But he died for me anyway."

It wouldn't be long until they reached Ostagar. The place offered hope to Nicholas, and fear to her.

Fate certainly had a sick sense of humor.

)O(

The king ignored her.

He seemed genuinely concerned about the situation in Denerim, but right now Highever was more important. Two nobles were dead, one more popular than the other, one by her hand. King Cailan promised them revenge, but all she wanted was to be able to go home and forget any of this had ever happened.

But they survived the Joining. At first she could feel the darkness crawling under her skin, but it faded.

Ostagar was a slaughter.

Nicholas wasn't much with a sword, but Meri taught him what she could. Though her art was one of speed and precision; not strength and force. Anyone could knock down a darkspawn, but it took a special skill to know exactly where to sink your blade.

Suddenly they were Ferelden's last hope. Meri and Nicholas left the Wilds in the company of a Witch, a would-be templar, and a Mabari hound she names Dane. Nicholas said he had a dog just like it once, but it too was gone.

"We have to search for my brother." he insisted. They had made it safely to Lothering, a small village populated mostly by refugees now. The Grey Wardens were being blamed for the king's death and thus were the target of misdirected rage and several attempts to collect the bounty on their heads.

Morrigan used cold logic, while Alistair chose gentle persuasion. But whatever their tactic they were all trying to convince him that looking for Fergus would take valuable time and resources they didn't have to spare.

Meri remained silent, because he knew that already.

She felt like she should apologize.

"Howe must pay for his betrayal." Nicholas said, staring at the crest on his shield, "And Loghain, too."

"They will." Meri assured him. "They all will."

)O(

They had made camp for the night. Already Nicholas could see the shadow of the Circle Tower in the distance. _Closer..._

Meri had immediately taken to Leliana, the Orlesian woman who left her cloistered life in the Chantry in favor of stopping the Blight. The redhead claimed she'd received a vision from the Maker Himself. He couldn't decide if she was crazy or just different. Maybe it didn't matter as long as she was willing to aid them. Meri eagerly listened to Leliana's tales, enthralled in the wonder of it all, while the Orlesian fussed over her hair.

Eventually their companions retired to their own tents. He and Meri were on first watch that night. A silence hung in the air.

He wanted to tell her everything. But how do you describe that kind of pain? For someone who read as much as he, Nicholas was at a loss for words. He wondered what had caused Meri to snap and kill a noble, yet he wasn't at all afraid of her.

"You know, if you ever want to talk..." she offered, her eyes as deep and blue as Lake Calenhad.

"I wouldn't know what to say." Nicholas admitted.

"You _always_ know what to say."

Not this time.


	14. Our Blood And Their Blood

**Title:** Our Blood And Their Blood

**Pairing:** None

**A/N:** Another snippet of our brave heroes' adventure. Curious elves tend to ask questions.

)O(

"Meri, you're bleeding!"

"What?"

Indeed she was. It was just a scratch; somehow the scab had been picked at one too many times and now a droplet of blood rolled down her cheek, like a teardrop. She instinctively brought a hand up to stop it, then stared at her reddened fingertips.

"Wynne could heal that for you, you know." Nicholas reminded her, but the elf shook her head. This wasn't anything to get all worked up over.

"She needs to rest. It's nothing, really, no need to bother her."

The massacre at the Tower was a lot to take in all at once.

"Then maybe Morrigan has a poultice or something..." he trailed off, rummaging through his pack for an injury kit or other means of mending her small wound. Why was he fussing over her so? No one had paid this much attention to her well being since...

"Nicholas...?"

"Yes?" he asked, but did not stop his search.

No, bad idea. Best not to ask that. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer even if he could provide one. He knew everything.

"What exactly is the difference between Grey Warden blood and darkspawn blood?"

The man froze, slowly turning his eyes to meet hers. She was just curious, maybe it was a stupid question? Oh, she must look like a fool.

Why did that bother her?

"That's something Alistair would probably know more about." he said. "It's...complicated, I know that much. We're immune to the taint, but that's only because it is already in our blood. It acts as a poison. So I would assume that eventually..."

They shared a knowing silence.

"I can't be certain," he went on. "But I would say the main difference between us and them is that we're not them. Simple as that. The taint in our blood...it connects us to them, and I wouldn't be surprised if there's a lot more to it than we've been told."

"Why do people think darkspawn blood is black?" she asked after a moment.

"Who knows? Not many people have actually seen one before, much less watched it bleed. If I had to guess, I would figure they just imagine the most evil thing they can think of and call it darkspawn; black blood and all."

Meri shivered as her eyes focused back on the trees that surrounded their camp. Shrouded in shadow, biding its time, something was watching them. She could feel it. She wondered if perhaps Nicholas could, too.

_What if we're more alike than we think?_

She did not dare voice the question.


	15. Fever

**Title:** Fever  
**Pairing:** f!Warden/Alistair  
**A/N:** Alistair has really bad timing. I know, it's extremely fluffy and the idea came to be at midnight but it is what it is.

)O(

Tonight was the night.

He had finally worked up the courage to tell her how he felt and maybe even ask her to spend the night...with him...in his tent...or hers...whatever she preferred.

Sure, it was far from perfect. But if things were perfect they never would have met. The Blight had a way of bringing people together, after all. They had only had each other since Ostagar. It made sense.

He'd spent the whole day thinking up possible scenarios in his mind. What would he say? What if she said 'no'? He had no idea what he was doing. What if she laughed at him?

He never once thought _this_ would happen.

She stood there while Alistair made his nervous little speech. All that time practicing what he was going to say didn't even matter now. He couldn't remember any of it. Logically, he knew that he should relax. She wouldn't judge him.

"Look, you make me _crazy..._when I'm around you, and yet...I can't imagine not being around you. I...none of us would have made it this far if it wasn't for you. So..."

And then all the cards were on the table. He made the offer and waited patiently for a response. _Please say something!_ his mind screamed. There was no going back. She was going to say 'no' wasn't she?

"A-are you sure this is what you want?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm ready. I want you more than anything. I mean, we could all die tomorrow, right? So why not give in to temptation just once?"

"You're right..."

He smiled, took her face in his hands to kiss her, and stopped. Something wasn't right. Alistair touched her forehead and confirmed his suspicion.

"Maker's Breath, you're burning up!"

Her eyes went wide and she stared at him in disbelief. "Huh...? How can that be?"

"Well, you are!"

She'd been acting a little strange all day, insisting she was just tired whenever anyone asked why. And now she had a ridiculously high fever for who knows how long and he had the worst timing ever.

Wynne assured him it wasn't anything serious. His fellow Warden just needed a few days of rest to recover. Still, he refused to leave her side.

"Alistair..." she murmured, half-asleep.

"Yes, my dear, what is it?"

"I..." her voice trembled, "I'm sorry I ruined everything..." Small tears slipped from her tired eyes. "You must hate me now."

_She's delirious_, he thought.

"I don't hate you." he said. "In fact, I love you even more." And then he realized he had never told her that before. "I love you."

"I love you, too..."

"Then I can wait."

Alistair had waited this long, he could always wait a little longer for her.


	16. Beauty

**Title: **Beauty

**Pairing:** Implied f!Cousland/Alistair

**A/N:** It came to be from nowhere, and honestly I'm not really sure what it is...

)O(

Dark-rimmed eyes closely studied the newest prisoner. She was a fair woman with skin like porcelain and an air of fragile nobility about her. Delphine waited patiently for the young thing to awaken.

This was no place for her.

Those eyes...they gave away nothing short of her very soul. Every thought, feeling, and haunting memory she had to her name. A once noble family name.

"What they get you for?" Delphine asked casually, gently. The young girl flinched, obviously having been under the impression that she was alone. Always a foolish assumption.

"I-I killed Rendon Howe." she said at last. The dull rage was there in her voice, but just barely, mostly the tone was one of shock and an eerie calm. She hadn't thought herself capable of such an act of pure vengeance. Delphine had once felt that way, too. She couldn't blame the poor girl for not being in her right mind. Who was she to judge anyway?

"Is that right?" Delphine let out a bark of crazed laughter. "Did you stab him? Have you ever stabbed anyone, sweetheart?"

The frail beauty's face whitened. "No, of course not! I'm an archer, like my mother before me." She held out her trembling hands for Delphine to inspect the callouses on them that she knew only came from years of wielding a bow. Not that she would have believed the girl was lying, even if she could.

Delphine clicked her tongue and scowled.

"That's a shame," she concluded, her eyes flashing. "There's really nothing quite like it, you know. It's one thing to put in arrow through someone's heart, quite another to drive the knife in. There's no detachment from the deed. You can't convince yourself the blood on your hands isn't theirs. And you look into their eyes for those last few moments...Why are you shaking so?"

The Cousland girl passed a hand over her face, and for a second Delphine thought she might faint. "You're scaring me." she breathed. "I do not like this kind of talk, it makes me nervous."

"We don't have to talk." Delphine said. "It doesn't matter anyway. Whoever this Howe person was, you don't seem like a killer to me, so my guess is he deserved it."

"Yeah," she spoke softly, "He deserved it...and more."

Delphine nodded. She understood.

"They're not coming for you, you know. Your friends, I mean. They're not coming." she told her, sagely but regretfully, too. Delphine outstretched one of her strong hands to grasp the hand of her fellow prisoner. "I thought I would get rescued once. Who doesn't want to believe that? But no one ever came, or they weren't able. It doesn't matter."

"But they _are_ coming." she declared, an intense fire in her eyes, the determination to believe. "Alistair will come for me...and...and Leliana, too!"

"All right." Delphine allowed the girl to retain her innocence and gave a sad smile. "There's a woman in the Alienage by the name of Shianni. When you get out of here, find her, and tell...tell her that I'm sorry, and that I tried..."

"You can tell Shianni yourself," the fair beauty replied. "We're both leaving this place alive."

Delphine shook her head. She couldn't believe she'd lasted this long in Fort Drakon.

"There will be other heroes." she said simply.

And then the Cousland girl's knight in shining armor appeared, ready to whisk her away into the sunset. Behind him stood a redheaded woman, quietly uttering a prayer as her keen eyes took one last look around the cell. Delphine silently slipped back into the shadows where she waited for the emerald waters to take her breath.


	17. His Resolution

**Title:** His Resolution

**Pairing:** f!Warden/Alistair

**A/N:** I don't really want to give anything away. So I'm just going to say review if you like it. Your feedback inspires me to write more.

)O(

All around him, the tavern was filled with merriment and drunken voices harmonized in song or laughter or mere incoherent babbling. Maker, how he wished to join them now. But this night called for bitter introspection.

Tomorrow he would no longer be able to count the years on his fingers.

It would be eleven years since he stormed out of the Landsmeet and left Denerim, but most importantly left her, his entire being consumed by a lifetime of pint up rage. He was tired of being stepped on and told what to do. He was tired of everyone making decisions for him. He was tired of following orders. And so Alistair had left. It was his first real choice, utterly selfish and stupid but at that moment he hadn't cared. He didn't care if he hurt them by running away, her most of all.

He filled the void in his life with ale. At first he'd just wanted to find somewhere new, a fresh start, but everywhere he went the news was the same. The Blight was ended by the Hero of River Dane who had earned his redemption in death. It wasn't justice if Alistair's enemy died a hero. She was mocking him. And so he got drunk, and for once, he came to understand Oghren a little more.

Somewhere between then and now the anger had faded, though he didn't like to admit it. Alistair still hated him more than anyone, but even Loghain's part in the archdemon's fall was slowly being forgotten, at least in the taverns that is, he couldn't be sure about the rest of the world outside this gloomy projection of his consciousness.

It wasn't even about Loghain anymore, he begrudgingly accepted: it was about her. The one who had betrayed him and chose mercy over justice when that bastard barely deserved either. She who had plucked out his heart with her long bony fingers and left a black hole in its place, a gaping void which still ached for want of her and felt ashamed of it. And he had tried in vain for the last eleven years to fill that void with ale. _Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

Sometimes, in his most desperate moments, he hoped she would come looking for him. She'd find the pieces of his broken life, just like his mother's amulet which he had shattered as a child out of anger, and the trail would lead her to him. She could put it all back together. She was good at that. Maybe she would even be able to mend his heart in the process.

But with so much time and distance between them, he doubted that would ever happen. Alistair had made it clear that he didn't want to be found. He turned his back on the Wardens, his friends and comrades, his love, and Morrigan who never was anything to him anyway. But he still regretted it when he was lucid enough. Even if he wanted to return, he doubted there was anything or anyone to return to.

He remembered when a year had passed since Ostagar. They had been fighting the darkspawn for twelve long months, but mostly just trying to gain some allies and perhaps a little more time. It was in the Deep Roads that he realized this, grief settling in the pit of his stomach as painful as it had been a year ago while he'd waited outside Flemth's hut to hear if he really would be doing this alone or if she had survived. There hadn't been much cause to celebrate then either, save for being alive, and they swore to see this thing through together.

So what if he broke his promise? She also said she loved him, and that Loghain would get what he deserved, so what reason did Alistair have to believe her at all? What would she say, he wondered, if she saw him now?

There were so many things he wanted to say to her.

Alistair suddenly felt all that time wasted crashing down on him. Eleven years was a long time, but especially by Grey Warden standards. That left him with nineteen more, probably a bit less given the decade or so of heavy drinking. He could almost feel his life slipping away as everyone waited eagerly for midnight to arrive and usher in the chance for a new beginning. It was up to him whether or not he took it.

The Crown and Lion was a nice enough tavern. Alistair had sworn he would never go back to Ferelden, but after so much time he'd ran out of places to go. He often hitched a ride on some ship with whatever coin he hadn't yet fizzled away on ale. He didn't care where it was headed, as long as it took him far from wherever he was now. Most recently, Alistair had ended up in Amaranthine. No trade vessels were scheduled to set sail until after the holidays, so he had little choice but to stay here. Besides, Ferelden winters were tough, and he would much rather be warm and drunk at an inn than out in the snow.

"Alistair?" It took him a moment to react. It had been so long since anyone had any reason to refer to him by his name. "Alistair..."

There was no way she could actually be standing here, just as beautiful as he remembered and very real. Given the look on her face, she didn't seem to believe it was possible either. Alistair felt suddenly embarrassed; he must look awful, an absolutely horrid shadow of who he once was. His last words to her had been, _"Take care of yourself."_ and it really was too bad he couldn't even follow his own advice. But she certainly appeared to have done just that.

"Yes? Come to rip out my heart and offer it to that great big statue of Loghain they're building in Denerim? Actually, I bet there's one here too, since they seem to be pretty much everywhere nowadays."

"When did you get here?" she asked evenly, fully expecting the hostility.

"Why do you care?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you going to have me arrested and thrown in your dungeon, _Arlessa_? Or should I say Commander?" Oh yes, he had heard that the Warden-Commander was ruling the Arling of Amaranthine. She seemed surprised by how much he knew.

"First of all, I would prefer it if you called me by my name. No one ever does though." she replied. "Secondly, what would be the charges? You haven't committed any crimes that I'm aware of, except maybe being a drunken nuisance. But that could be said for anyone here, I suppose."

He wanted to scream at her, but his mind was empty of potential insults. He had no choice but to follow his heart, even though the last time Alistair had done that, he had fallen in love with her. And he had known in his head that sparing Loghain was the practical thing to do, but his heart saw it as betrayal and his pride forced him to leave her. Alistair had no one but himself to blame for this. His first real choice hadn't actually been a choice at all because he was convincing himself that his anger was justified the whole time. Alistair had blindly followed his heart without question, just like he followed her, as long as he didn't have to think for himself.

"I knew our paths would cross again someday. Thedas can only keep two people apart for so long." she was saying. "I'm so tired of being hurt, Alistair, and I'm tired of being angry. I hope you are too. It's been so many years...I want to start over."

He had wanted so much to hear those words. She forgave him, but was he ready to forgive her?

"You expect me to just forget what happened?"

"No. But I've moved on, Alistair. You should too."

Then the clock struck midnight and she closed the gap between them, her mouth pressed against his. Those lips were just as soft as he remembered and he couldn't bring himself to pull away from her. The kiss seemed to calm whatever jaded storm of emotions still raged inside him, and for a moment, he was whole again.

After what felt like the most blissful seconds of his life, she broke the trance, and the dream shattered. "I'll be at the Vigil when you've sobered up enough to think before you speak. We have a lot of catching up to do." she whispered in his ear. "You know where to find me if you want, but if not, then just take care of yourself, Alistair, please."

He blinked, thinking of what to say, but she had already vanished into the crowd.


	18. She Who Loved The Whole World

**Title:** She Who Loved The Whole World  
**Pairing: **None really.  
**A/N:** Just a few of Nicholas' thoughts concerning Meri after a certain assassin is allowed to live and follow them around.

)O(

He doesn't understand how she can possibly find it in her heart to love everyone _that_ much.

Meri finds the silver lining of any cloud and the beauty in even the most Blighted places. She once found a single perfect rose in the wreckage of Lothering. Leliana attributed it to divine protection, the Maker's work. Alistair also enjoyed the sentiment. Nicholas however did not. It was just a flower.

The others were unaware of it, but there was another side to Meri, one she showed only when forced to.

But she had been right that day in Fort Drakon. What_ did_ he really know about her anyway? That unlike him she hid her true feelings under a guise of optimism? She believed in soul mates and worried far too much about what other people thought. He knew Meri's favorite book, and that she worked at a tavern, but occasionally had to do some...questionable deeds to get by.

Perhaps she was a friend to everyone because she didn't think she could afford to make another enemy. It obviously hadn't gone so well last time, though Nicholas can't claim to know the whole story there.

)O(

She hasn't stopped blushing ever since the assassin joined them.

He was an elf, this Zevran fellow, and apparently he had been hired by Loghain to kill them. But Meri, whatever was going on in her head at the time, decided to give him a second chance. She was unofficially appointed as the one to deal with everything elf-related, including this by default.

He was no more out of place than anyone else in their strange little group, but still there was a distinct air of distrust hovering around camp that night. It wasn't as if he did anything to stop it, quite the opposite in fact.

The Antivan was constantly flirting with her, and everyone else, really. Nicholas felt an odd brotherly urge to protect Meri from such things. The only thing that even came close to describing it would be the joy he had experienced when his nephew, Oren, was a baby and needed protecting. Oh, but those thoughts brought up other darker thoughts he didn't like to entertain when it wasn't necessary...

And it wasn't that he believed Meri was incapable of handling her own affairs, or that he didn't trust her, but Zevran was...manipulative, persuasive, and he had just tried to kill them a mere two days ago! Nicholas could tell Alistair was thinking the same thing.

"What do you suppose his...intentions are with her?" the ex-templar asked as they watched the two elves sitting by the fire. Zevran was telling one of his many adventurous tales of sex and murder while Meri drank up every word despite its amoral nature and blushed like she had that day at the tavern. It wasn't an act this time either.

"I don't know," Nicholas replied, shaking his head. "I just don't trust him."

"Oh, I think it's cute!" Leliana chimed in, suddenly appearing behind them. "Besides, Zev's a good man, even if he tries to hide it. He does not have a heart of stone. You see how gentle and kind he is to her, yes?"

Alistair wasn't convinced. "You honestly think he's a good influence on her?"

"I do," the Orlesian said with absolute certainty. "And who knows? Maybe she will even be good for him."

"How can you be so sure, Leliana?"

She fell silent for a moment before speaking again, very seriously, "I know a broken soul when I see one, Nicholas." said the bard.

Then she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the two Wardens in a contemplative silence.

Nicholas hoped Zevran Arainai was not Meri's soul mate.

But she loves everyone, and maybe she and Leliana can see something in him that no one else can. But how she could se easily forgive and forget, he hadn't the slightest idea. Meri Tabris was a mystery even now...A mystery wrapped in a paradox.

It was a good thing he liked mysteries.


	19. Choices

**Title:** Choices  
**Pairing:** None  
**A/N:** Anders' escape from the Tower seen through Finn's eyes.

)O(

Finn was up late one night in the library when something strange pulled his attention away from the book he had been reading. One of the ladders that were used to reach the highest bookshelves was moving, seemingly on its own accord. This would have frightened most mages, but Finn was the type of person who regularly conversed with an ancient talking Tevinter statue, and therefore wasn't surprised by much of anything these days.

Upon further investigation, he realized the ladder was in fact not moving on its own at all, but someone was trying to move from its position propped up against a shelf. It was Anders, the blond mage with a gift for spirit healing an a tendency to get caught attempting to escape from the Tower. Finn couldn't see why anyone would want to leave. It was warm, dry, safe, and most of all there was a huge library of ancient books full of knowledge just waiting to be discovered.

"What are you doing?" Finn asked, equal parts annoyed and amused.

"What's it to you, _Flora_?" the other mage sneered.

"It looks to me like you're planning something." Finn observed. "Let's see, what could you do with a ladder besides reach high places? Perhaps use it to reach low places like...the ground? You intend to climb out of the first floor window, don't you?"

Anders pretended to look surprised. "No really? I _never_ thought of _that_. I was going to do something entirely different. Thank you _so_ much for coming up with this _brilliant _plan."

Finn ignored the sarcastic reply. "There's just one problem, well, that I know of anyway. Chances are there are a million problems with your plan." he said. "Do you really think no one, especially a templar, is going to notice you carrying a ten foot ladder through the Tower in the middle of the night? Besides, it would probably take four templars to lift it, and you're just one little mage."

"One mage can make a big difference, you know. Just look at Tevinter."

"Exactly," Finn smiled. "We're not much when it comes to strength, Anders; even you have to admit that."

He frowned, realizing he wasn't going to get out of the Tower this way. "What then? Are you going to tell on me? Run to Greagoir or Irving and have them praise your loyalty to this blasted prison?"

Finn bit his lip, confidence wavering under the pressure of Anders' eyes on him. Finally he shook his head. "I guess I owe you," he decided. "Your foolish stunt a while back forced the Knight-Commander not to allow the mages out to exercise anymore. Now my robes can stay clean and I don't have to get all sweaty in the hot sun."

What was so great about the outside world anyway? No one cared about the mages. And besides, it was muddy and cold, the sun was too bright and the evenings too dark, and don't even get him started on the air...

He had tried once to persuade Anders that it wasn't worth it, but the blond man was stubborn and he had something to prove. It wasn't even about being outside; it was the principle of freedom that drove Anders to escape again and again.

But there were more imprtant things than that. The Circle was as much a safe haven as it was a prison.

"I don't get what you see in this place, Flora." Anders said, now leaning against a bookshelf after tiring himself out moving the ladder a few feet.

"And I don't get what's so great about being _out there_." Finn countered. "Besides, the Tower is my home, Anders, and it's yours too." - The blond mage snorted at that - "It's not so bad if you would just give it a chance. Who knows? You might even find something you like about being a part of the Circle."

"Sorry, but _I_ happen to like freedom." he said. "The templars don't exactly help matters."

"They protect us."

"Right," Anders wasn't convinced. "From demons, from a world that hates and fears us, from ourselves…I've heard it all before. But who is supposed to protect us from them?"

Finn opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again. What was he supposed to say to that?

"Exactly," Anders smiled triumphantly. "Now you can either help me or go back to your book and the blissful complacency it offers you. I don't care. I'm getting out of here one way or another."

They weren't friends. There was no reason for him to care if Anders was successful or not, even though he knew the outcome already. The templars had Anders' phylactery, so they could track him down no matter how far he managed to run.

He might as well have been running in circles the whole time.

Finn turned away as Anders continued to struggle with the ladder. In a way, he was helping by staying silent and pretending to read his book.


	20. Confession

**Title:** Confession

**Pairing:** None. Sort of.

**A/N:** Know that these oneshots are _not_ in chronological order. It is very likely that I will post another one that takes place prior to this, but I could not get this out of my head. Also, Confession is a working title, I'm open to suggestions. Review?

)O(

Queen Anora's handmaiden had come to them, begging for their help in rescuing her lady from Arl Howe. She was hiding something. Ironically, it was terribly obvious. Maybe she was a bard, like Leliana...

But that wasn't important at the moment. As Nicholas led the group through Howe's dungeons all he could think was that he would finally have revenge. This man was responsible for the murder of his entire family. Loghain would pay for his crimes at Ostagar, that was a separate matter, even if he was indirectly responsible for the disappearance of Nicholas' brother.

All the guards that had stood in their way were dead. At last...it was time to finish this...

"Nicholas..." Meri whispered. He looked at her and she flinched, her face white. "Don't..."

"Meri, I won't lie to you." he said. "I loathe Rendon Howe more than anyone in the world. I will see him pay for what he did, even if it means my death and the end of my family line."

He had sworn to his dying father that he would take _vengeance_. It was a promise he had no intention of breaking. It was his duty as a Cousland to avenge them all...

"It won't bring them back!" she called after him. His hand rested on the door handle but all he could do was stare at her. "You think it will, but it won't." What a foolish thing to say. Of course he knew that. His family was gone forever, but this...this _what?_ Did _this_ really change anything?

"I know." Nicholas insisted.

"Do you?" Meri's voice rose, then quieted once more. "Killing him won't change what happened. It doesn't make the guilt go away. Trust me..." The elf placed a hand on his arm and smiled sadly.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he not have realized it before? This was the Arl of Denerim's estate - another title Rendon had managed to claim with nobles dying left and right. This was where she had killed that bastard who was obsessed with having power over innocent elven women and demonstrated such on her wedding day. She knew what she was talking about.

"I'm not telling you not to kill him," she went on, "I just don't want you to think that it's the answer."

)O(

Soon everything became a haze of blood and gore and _anger_. The rage consumed him; everything Oghren 'taught' Nicholas about being a berserker seemed to be paying off. The dwarf would be proud when they told him. Nicholas didn't even recognize the body when he was finally forced to come to his senses due to exhaustion. Meri stood in the doorway, trembling, but all he saw were their faces...the grief as real and as painful as it had been that night...

They both allowed the silence to speak for them.

When they accomplished their mission of saving the queen, it was only to be ambushed by at least a dozen of Loghain's soldiers. They were outnumbered and outmaneuvered. No doubt Anora had something planned for either outcome, a clever way to ally herself with whichever side could guarantee her the crown. She would betray her father, but only if she thought the Wardens could actually win back the nobles' favor, and only if it meant she could remain Ferelden's ruler.

Still, she would be a vital voice to have on their side. Only with her support could they win over the Landsmeet in the first place. First and foremost, the Wardens stood for stopping the Blight. Nothing more, nothing less. That was why they could not afford to lose.

Meri was not about to go back to Fort Drakon again. She drew her daggers, and Nicholas agreed with her decision, even if they did have different reasons for it.

)O(

Even though Nicholas had been to Denerim many times, he had never set foot in the Alienage. Humans said it wasn't safe and elves did nothing to disprove that assumption. Riots, chaos, and angry mob style uprisings had been occurring at an alarming rate for months, until finally the city guard was forced to lock the gates, trapping everyone inside. It hadn't been the rioting that caused this, however, but the plague.

Meri was so different amongst her own people, so...stern yet more at ease than usual. He didn't understand it. She immediately took charge of the situation and exposed the Tevinter 'healers' for what they truly were: Tevinter _slavers_.

He felt immensely guilty for being born not only as a human but a noble as well. Given every privilege society had to offer and ultimately taken advantage of it because that is what humans did. These elves had so little, if anything, to call their own. So many people, including Loghain, easily considered their lives as forfeit in a time of war as if they were some kind of renewable resource. They were treated as animals, and not even a highly respected animal like a Mabari but more like rats. Elves were thought of as possessions to be bought and sold, dragged from their homes in the dead of night...like her father.

It was for this reason that when Meri cut off the head of Caladrius, the blood mage/lead slaver, Nicholas said nothing.

Meri approached the cage and picked the lock, her hand still shaking slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The second the door swung open, an old man rushed forward and threw his arms around her. Nicholas figured this was the man Shianni, her rather outspoken cousin, had mentioned. He was Meri's father.

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to go with them back to the house or not. But Wynne and Leliana did, so Nicholas followed them.

Cyrion insisted that she eat something, saying that she was all skin and bone, while Shianni talked about how they had so much catching up to do. She boasted about a bottle of wine she had procured from the local shopkeeper, and Meri said that she was just looking for an excuse to get drunk. It was a joke, but every joke had a grain of truth to it, or so they say.

)O(

The Landsmeet had come to a decision...somehow. Try as she might, Meri had never been able to understand politics. All she knew was that there was a duel, and Alistair killed Loghain. Then it was decided that he would become king and marry Queen Anora. Meri felt sorry for both of them. Arranged marriages rarely ended well, though maybe she was a little biased. Still, she didn't think they were each others' soul mate.

It had started raining between the time they entered the palace and the time they left. Nicholas walked out into the rain without a moment's hesitation. He was so tired of talking and fighting, and she certainly couldn't blame him considering how emotionally draining the last few days had been.

"Nicholas!" Meri called. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. He was like that sometimes. She could never tell what he was thinking.

"What is it, Meri?"

Her heart leaped into her throat and temporarily took control of her tongue. Impulsiveness got the better of her.

Meri looked him right in the eye and asked, "Would you hate me if I said I loved you?"


	21. The Grand Game

**Title:** The Grand Game  
**Pairing:** Implied Leliana/Marjolaine  
**A/N:** Marjolaine compares the Grand Game of Orlesian politics to chess. I used the French names for the chess pieces and such but I also made sure to clarify which piece they were talking about. Also, the noblewomen are mentioned by Leliana in-game.

)O(

She was a commoner, born of a Ferelden woman in Orlais and raised by an Orlesian lady. Still, Leliana considered herself a citizen of Ferelden, and someday, she would go to her mother's homeland, but not today.

Being a commoner as she was made it that much more surprising for Leliana to find herself here, sitting at a table surrounding by Orlesian noblewomen, and her bard master.

She loved the Game, the excitement it brought to her otherwise dull life, even if it did often require her to do things she regretted in hindsight. Sacrifice was always necessary, Marjolaine said.

Currently the four ladies, excluding Leliana and Marjolaine, were all siting with drinks in their hands. They had formed a kind of alliance. Hence is was acceptable that they converse with a bard-master and her student together. As long as none of them were secretly plotting against the others which would be rude. That was the whole reason for bards to exist. It was rude to do such things in the public eye. It made the Game less fun that way.

"I hear the little tea party went well, Leliana." Lady Adele spoke up. She had requested Leliana's service in pretending to serve tea at a local brothel, all the while keeping close watch over Adele's cheating husband. Seduce him, Adele had instructed, and maybe rough him up a bit. Lady Adele did not allow him to have mistresses, though it was common among the nobility. She was a rather self-centered woman, despite the charity work she did to appease society.

"Yes, it went quite well indeed."

"Bonne! It would be a shame to have one of my lovers suffer an unfortunate..._accident_." She grinned wickedly, and just a for moment, Leliana's blood turned cold.

"You would just find yourself another before the week was out." Lady Clarabelle chimed in, sipping from her glass. She was a woman of odd tastes, but brutally honest when it came to judging others.

"You're one to talk, Clarabelle, with all the rumors going around about you and that one-armed boy who tends your garden." Adele shot back, still smiling.

"She has a point," Lady Alles agreed. "Why else would you employ a man who was missing a limb to do manual labor unless he was tending your _other_ garden as well?"

They all laughed. Leliana blushed.

"I do hope you are paying him extra for such a service!" Adele scowled.

"What a brave man!" Alles added.

"My private affairs are none of your concern." Lady Clarabelle snapped, glowering at the others.

"Ah, but that is why we are all here, is it not?"

They all looked in the direction of the new voice. Lady Catarina, a quiet and dim-witted woman, sat in the corner with a number of knotted cherry stems spread out on the table before her. She had the uncanny ability to tie them using only her tongue. Such a skill made her very popular with the men, though she remained unmarried. Catarina didn't want to commit herself to someone who loved her solely based on what she could do with her tongue.

She was the kind of person who believed in happily ever afters and true love conquering all. But as Lady Adele often told her, there was no reason she couldn't just marry another should she come to regret it.

"True enough," Lady Adele held her glass high in the air, as if giving a toast. "We are here to get back at our cheating husbands and women who have finer things than we do."

"Then you have come to the right place." Marjolaine's velvety tone cut through the merriment like a knife. Everyone fell silent. She had been watching from the shadows for sometime. That was when Leliana noticed there was a chess board set out in front of her.

"The Game," she began, "is a lot like échecs."

"How so…?"

"It is simple, really, ma chère Catarina." Marjolaine scowled, holding up two pieces: the king and queen. "The roi and dame represent the nobles, that would be you. When they are gone, the Game is over."

"Simple," Lady Alles declared.

"Ah, but I am not yet finished." The bard master picked up a pawn and showed it to the group of eager noblewomen. "We bards are pions: discreet, loyal, essential, yet virtually expendable. If you can afford it we will kill for you, even die for you, and everything in between. We see the Game most clearly because we are objective. It allows us to protect ourselves, as well as your interests."

Leliana was shocked. Marjolaine had not explained to her what their roll was nearly as eloquently as she was now. They really were pawns, weren't they? Suddenly, she wasn't sure that was what she truly wanted.

"What about the cavalier?" asked Lady Adele, gesturing to one of the knights.

"Oh! They are the chevaliers, yes?" Clarabelle guessed, apparently through being angry at the other nobles.

"Right you are, my good lady." Marjolaine nodded. "They like to be close to the nobles, sure to stay in their good graces. They are respected for their skill and feared by their enemies, as well as some who believe they have too much power." She paused for effect, then picked up a bishop next, turning it over in her hands thoughtfully. "The fou of course represents the Divine and the Chantry as a whole. They would prefer not to play the Game, to stay out of the way. But alas, it comes with the territory, no?"

The ladies chuckled along with her.

"Finally we have the tours," she went on, pointing to the last piece. There were three of them in total, one in each corner of the board. "They are Orlais itself, as well as its people. In a sense, they are trapped, but they play the Game because they must in order to free themselves. They are stuck between chevaliers and bards, not a good place to be."

Everyone was quiet for a long time. They all let Marjolaine's words sink in. For some it took longer than others.

Leliana's mentor turned to look at her then. "Come, my pretty thing," she said, "I think our patrons have enough to occupy themselves with for now."

And so she left the table, the chess board, and the noblewomen. It had never felt more like a game than at that moment. Never had she felt more insignificant yet needed. She was a pawn, but it could be worse.

The Grand Game must go on, always, even if sacrifices had to be made.


	22. Addison

**Title: **Addison

**Pairing:** None

**A/N: **A drabble based on my newest character.

)O(

When Eleanor became pregnant with her second child, everyone assumed it would be a boy. She loved first her born, of course, Fergus was the light of her life...But secretly, she hoped for a daughter this time. Bryce said he would be happy as long as the child was healthy and had all its fingers and toes, but she knew he wanted another son.

All of Highever waited in anticipation for the news. And then, in the midst of a frozen winter morning, it happened. A man came running from the castle, positively elated despite the cold.

"The Teyrna has given birth to a beautiful baby girl!" the messenger cried. "Addison Cousland, daughter to the lord and lady of Highever!"

Everyone joined in song and celebration. Mother Mallol blessed the child who would be a shining light in the darkness of winter. Eleanor and Bryce were overjoyed. And Fergus, who was five at the time, also liked the idea of having a little sister.

Addison quickly developed a personality all her own. She had a remarkably sharp wit and sense of independence, not to mention she was impossibly stubborn. These traits, Nan said, were inherited from her mother.

The little girl refused to wear the flowery sun dresses that were picked out for her. She thought they were silly and impractical.

In fact, the last she would ever wear a dress would be her brother's wedding. It was one of those rare occasions that called for elegant gowns, straight silken hair, and her face all covered in powder. Such a pointless affair, she thought. But then Addison never had cared to master tact and diplomacy.

Everyone always said how beautiful she was, and she hated it.

All things considered, she had rather plain features. Addison was built like a boy and some people even jokingly referred to her as the Cousland's second son. This was part of the reason why Father didn't want her to learn to fight.

She was not like most children. While other little girls huddled together in their little circles and giggled and dreamed about someday marrying prince charming, she played games of Grey Warden versus darkspawn and dragon slayer.

When she came of age, Addison was given a puppy by one of her many suitors. This wasn't just any puppy either, but a Mabari war hound. She eagerly accepted the gift and promptly slammed the door in the young nobleman's face. If only she knew how to fight, then he would know better than to assumed she would be swept off her feet by a few gifts and simple flattery. Men were overrated anyway.

Addison decided that if she was ever going to be a great fighter, she would have to take her training into her own hands. Unfortunately, the only skilled warrior she knew aside from Father was her brother. Yes, she wanted to learn _that_ badly.

"You want me to...what?" Fergus couldn't believe she was actually asking this.

"Teach me." Addison said seriously. "I want to learn to fight. I want to be a warrior."

He sighed. "You do realize it takes many years to master the sword and shield, right? It's not like learning to sew. It takes practice, _lots_ of practice, hours and hours of hard work and training. At the end, you'll hardly have the strength to lift your arms. It feels like every muscle in your body is on fire." He looked at her face for any sign of apprehension. There was none. "Do you still want to be a warrior?"

"Yes."

"If you are certain, little sister. Let's get started."

Fergus was right. It took a lot of practice, and she could barely hide the bruises from when his shield slammed into her ribs, but Addison was determined. Bryce knew the whole time, of course, but he assumed it was just a phase. Eventually she would grow out of it and settle down with some nice man. Eleanor had been quite the battle maiden herself, after all. But when Addison finally managed to best her elder brother in a training session, even the Teyrn began to realize that this was not mere teenage rebellion anymore. She was truly committed to becoming a warrior.

His little girl...

But no, she was hardly a girl any longer, was she? Addison was a woman. A pale woman who spent all her time sparring with off-duty guards or bored knights, but a woman nonetheless. Fergus' attention was focused on his wife and son now, and besides, Addison had proven herself strong enough to beat him once already.

She would do fine watching the castle while Bryce and Fergus were away at Ostagar. The king had called for fighters against the darkspawn, and that was a call they could not ignore. He knew Addison would complain about not being able to go off to war as well, but she'd understand in time. A Cousland had to be left behind if the worst should happen, and Addison was more capable than anyone could hope for. She would make a strong and just ruler, if it came to that.

)O(

Addison stood in the doorway, covered head to toe in dust and what looked like it might be half-dried blood. Long dark hair, loosely braided and tied in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes, trailed halfway down her back. There, as always, was a longsword and an old shield.

"You sent for me?" Addison prompted as she walked into the room, tracking dirt in behind her. He merely frowned.

"Yes, I did, nearly an hour ago." Bryce said. "Your family must come before your sword, Addison. You are a Cousland, and as such-"

"-I must always do my duty." she interrupted, finishing the family motto. "Yes, Father, I know. But being a warrior is my calling. There is a difference."

He sighed. "We will talk about this later. Now, there is someone I would like you to meet."

Addison then realized her father's company. There was a man she recognized, Arl Howe, who for some reason always reminded her of a snake...And there was another man she didn't recognize.

"This is Duncan." Father told her. "He is the Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. You know of them, don't you?"

"They are an order of great warriors." she said immediately, bowing her head slightly. Addison had idolized the Wardens from a very young age, and he knew it. His fear was that she would want to be recruited, and Duncan would allow it because there was a Blight coming, after all. Bryce didn't have so many children that he would send one to war and another to become a Grey Warden. Not all who went down either path came back home again.

He'd practically begged the Warden-Commander not to mention the possibility to her. When Addison got in idea in her head to do something, she would find a way.

Duncan just smiled. "You are too kind, my lady. I am glad to see not everyone has forgotten."

"Indeed." Bryce smiled back, grateful. "My family has always stood by the Wardens. It is why my son leaves for Ostagar today, and tomorrow Rendon and myself will do the same. It will be just like old times."

"True, only we fought Orlesians not...darkspawn." Arl Howe spoke up.

"At least the smell will be the same." Bryce replied. They both laughed.

Addison folded her arms defiantly. "I don't understand." she said. "Why can't I go with you and Fergus?"

"I've explained this to you already, Pup." the Teyrn sighed. "It's too dangerous. You need to stay here with your mother and make sure the castle and our people are kept safe."

"While you ride off into battle against a massive horde of seething darkspawn? Absolutely not. I could make a difference, Father, you know I could but you never give me the chance to prove it. My place is on the battlefield."

'Your place is _here_!" he snapped. "I cannot risk something happening to you, Pup. Real war is nothing like the old tales."

"I know that. I'm not a child anymore. There are risks in every choice that we make. Maker, the castle could be attacked while are forces are away!" Addison could have sworn she saw Arl Howe flinch at that. "At least I would be dying for something meaningful."

"You're too young to make that kind of decision." her father said.

"Yes, Father." she murmured, turning away. The words themselves implied surrender, but the way she said them conveyed nothing but pure sarcasm.

"Find Fergus!" Bryce called after her, looking back to his guests once Addison was gone. He was more than slightly embarrassed. "Teenagers, you know?"

)O(

Addison woke to the sound of her Mabari hound barking.

"What is it, boy?" she asked gently. The dog growled at the door. "Is someone out there?" She instinctively reached for her sword, which was never far, when suddenly the door was thrown open. A man stood there, weapon at the ready. Addison and her dog sprang into action. The soldier was dead not a minute later.

There was an arrow lodged in the back of his skull.

Addison looked up, only to see her mother clad in leather armor with a bow in hand. She picked up the dead soldier's shield. The crest was familiar. There was no denying it: these were Howe's men. He had betrayed Father and attacked the castle while their forces were away...

"That bloody traitor!" Addison shouted, rage boiling in her veins, making her heart race with adrenaline. She wanted to hit something, preferably Howe's serpent-like face.

"Calm down, darling, we have to concentrate on surviving this now." Mother said, soothing and firm and logical. _Yes, survival..._

Behind every door were more corpses. Oriana, Fergus' Antivan wife; Oren, his son and Addison's dear sweet nephew who had asked her to teach him how to use a sword; Lady Landra, the Teyrna's friend; Iona, the elf who was her lady-in-waiting; Darrian, her son; Nan...

They fought their way through the flaming castle, just to survive. They had to find the Teyrn, the world and more importantly the king had to know of Howe's treachery. At least Addison managed to recover the Cousland family blade and the shield of Highever. It was a small victory, but all wars were won in a series of small victories.

Bryce lay bleeding on the floor of the larder. Addison wept, apologizing for everything again and again, like a child. There were too many regrets, so many things she shouldn't have said, and so little time to say what she needed to. He was dying. The hope that had kept her fighting didn't want to believe it, but Addison could hardly ignore what was right in front of her. She didn't want to let go.

And then Duncan appeared and made her an offer: a place within the Grey Wardens in exchange for the safety of Addison and the Teyrna.

"You wanted to join, didn't you?" the Teyrn asked. "This is your chance, Pup, you must survive and find Fergus...He needs to know..."

"This wasn't how I wanted this to be." Addison cried.

"I know, but it's your duty."

"And Couslands always do their duty." she said with a weak smile.

"That's right." her father smiled slightly too. "Howe will get what he deserves. The king will make sure of that."

"He will die by my blade." Addison insisted. "I will see him pay for what he has done."

"Good...I'm...so proud of you, Pup..."

There wasn't much time. But Eleanor refused to abandon her husband. And knowing how stubborn she could be, there was no talking her out of it either. Duncan ushered Addison out of the servant's passage and onto the cold, dark grounds of Castle Cousland. The crisp night air filled her lungs and cleared her head.

They fled deeper into the forest, staying off the main roads, until she could no longer see the smoke on the horizon. It seemed like they never stopped running. At least that kept her distracted. It was when everything grew still and calm and quiet that her mind replayed the memories.

It was then, as they drew closer to Ostagar where her brother was, that a wave of grief, so intense that Addison could barely keep from falling to her knees and crying out to the Maker in anguish, washed over her.

Mother and Father were gone and she would have to be stronger than ever. She would have to fight, not because she wanted to but because it was her duty, her calling.


	23. Im Tod, opfern

**Title:** Im Tod, opfern. (German for: In Death, Sacrifice.)  
**Pairing:** Alistair/Surana  
**A/N:** The First Warden is not what he had expected.

)O(

Alistair had never been to Weisshaupt before.

The fortress was ancient and magnificent in contrast to the frigid, mountainous, Blighted landscape of the Anderfels. He arrived in spring, though snow still dusted the ground. Weisshaupt stood like a beacon to weary travelers: bright and warm and welcoming.

Then he was inside, and the novelty quickly wore off.

It was still grand, but not at all welcoming. He had expected as much. The First Warden was known for medeling in politics while ignoring the needs of his own people. He acted almost as king of the Anderfels since the land's own king was weak. And the people, living in constant fear of the darkspawn returning to claim what little remained from previous Blights, looked to the Wardens to protect them. The arrangement worked out for everybody. But it just didn't seem right to him.

Alistair wandered around for the better part of an hour before he finally found someone who was willing to help. He needed to speak to the First Warden or at least someone with the power to order a tomb built for his love, the woman who had given her life to end the Blight. He missed her terribly, but at least this way no one would forget her sacrifice. It should have been him...

In hindsight, he probably should have hired a translator. It would have made this whole thing a lot easier. The language barrier proved tirkcy to overcome. Half of Weisshaupt didn't even want to talk to him, and the other half couldn't understand a word he said.

"Excuse me?" Alistair tapped a rather burly man on the shoulder, who looked at him like he'd gone mad. "My name is Alistair. I'm the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and...uh...Can you understand me at all?" The man just stared. "I'll take that as a no, then."

"Ser Alistair!" Someone called his name. It was a woman. She looked to be a bit older than him, but the lines on her face made her look older than she actually was. She wore heavy chainmail armor and she gave off an air of seriousness. "I am told you wish to speak with the First Warden."

"Yes, that is correct." he said. "Can you take me to him?"

"I can indeed." A thin smiled graced her lips. "You may call me Adalicia, by the way."

He followed her through a maze of winding corridors that led deeper and deeper into the fortress with no destination in sight. She spoke to him as they walked.

"We knew the Blight was over before anyone told us." she said. "The archdemon cried out, and then suddenly their was silence. You fought beside the one they cal the Hero of Ferelden, did you not?"

"Yes..." Alistair replied quietly. "Her name was Neria Surana. That's actually the reason I'm here..."

"Oh? You wish to have a memorial or statue erected in her honor? A tomb fit for a heroine?" Adalicia asked sincerely.

"Something like that."

"That shouldn't be a problem." she told him. "We have a statue of every Warden who has ever ended a Blight. It is a dwarven tradition, I understand, but what better way to honor those among us who have made the ultimate sacrifice?"

He didn't know what to say to that, so Alistair just nodded.

"How are things at Weisshaupt?" he finally asked. Adalicia looked at him, puzzled, her eyebrows raised.

"Things are as they have always been, brother, the First Warden deals with political matters while the rest suffer in silence, as they say."

"It sounds to me like the First Warden needs to get his priorities straight." Alistair muttered.

"We all do what we must to survive." she retorted calmly. "While people may remember us now, they will have forgotten once again in a few centuries. The Wardens must endure and be ready when the time comes. We have been exiled, hunted, accused of treason and despised for our pragmatism. We do what is necessary to end the Blight, and that is not always pleasant. It has won us enemies in the past, but the only enemy we can afford to have is the darkspawn. It is for this reason that it is vital that the Wardens hold carry some political weight."

He supposed that made sense. After all, Queen Anora had given the Arling of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens. "But I thought the Wardens were supposed to be neutral in all matters."

"In a perfect world, that would be so." There was that thin smiled again. "But alas, the very existence of the darkspawn proves that ours is not a perfect world."

Adalicia stopped walking and turned to him. "You will stay here tonight." she stated. "There won't be a ship leaving until at least midday tomorrow because of the fog."

"But what about...?"

"I will tell the First Warden of your request. I am sure he will have it done right away."

Adalicia pulled a young elven woman aside and whispered to her, "Bitte nehmen Sie sich Ser Alistair zu einem Gästezimmer."

The elf nodded and replied, "Wie du willst, Erster Warden."

Then she took Alistair by the arm and led him away from Adalicia, who smiled her thin smile and said, "Andraste mit dir sein."

He felt it had been a rather productive day.


	24. Something Like Madness

**Title:** Something Like Madness  
**Pairing:** M!Amell/Morrigan  
**A/N:** I've wanted to write something like this for a while now, and I finally found the time. So...review!

)O(

Just five years after the Blight's end, the one called the Hero of Ferelden seemed to disappear from the face of Thedas. It was a gradual disappearance: Alistair saw him less and less until finally Amell's faithful Mabari hound turned up on the doorstep of the royal palace. Before that, he had written off the other Warden's abscence, assuming he was probably just busy being a hero. Now he knew something was wrong.

There was a rumor that his health had declined rapidly in recent months, and that he had either died or traveled to Tevinter for a cure. Some said Andraste's ashes were involved. Others claimed he sailed to Orlais in pursuit of a dark-haired sorceress he still loved.

The rumors made it hard to distinguish the truth from idle gossip, but eventually Alistair was able to track down his old friend to a madhouse in Highever. Being king was good for something after all.

Amell had lost touch with most of his companions long ago. Everyone had inevitably gone their separate ways. Alistair of course still resided in Denerim with Anora and their two children. He still was unsure of how he felt about the queen but he loved his little girls.

Leliana spent most of the year in Orlais but visited Denerim as frequently as possible. Her aid had been crucial in the search for Amell, and she was determined to be the best auntie she could to his daughters.

Oghren eventually settled down and married an old lover of his named Felsi, though he still managed to get drunk just as often as before. It was on those nights that he talked about running off to become a Grey Warden, but Alistair doubted he had the stones to actually do it.

After returning to the Tower, Wynne had passed away in her sleep, and Alistair still missed her wise words and youthfully smug scowl everyday...

Zevran and Sten went back to their respective homelands shortly after the battle, and that was the last he had heard from either of them, which wasn't particularly surprising.

Morrigan had simply vanished in the chaos following the archdemon's demise. It had broken Amell's heart, he knew, but Alistair never thought anything could actually drive the man mad. The news had come as a complete shock to those who knew him. Amell just wasn't the type to give up so easily.

Despite the protests of his advisers, Alistair made the trip to Highever alone. Leliana met him there, and after a quick embrace of friendship, they entered the madhouse together.

The front room was quaint and warm. The walls were virtually barren save for a faded portrait of the late Teyrna of Highever, Eleanor Cousland. A nurse hurried to greet them, asking her questions just as quickly. Leliana said they were here to visit someone. Alistair kept the hood of his cloak up so that he would not be recognized, at least not yet. The last thing they needed was everyone causing a scene because the king of Ferelden had come to see a good friend. He didn't want to be the king right now, just Alistair.

The nurse nodded and led them down a series of winding corridors. "Mr. Amell came to us about six months ago. The Circle of Magi was not equipped to properly care for him, though the Knight-Commander wasn't pleased with letting him go. As I understand, he was about to make him Tranquil right there, but the First Enchanter wouldn't have it. I think the templars feared...demonic possession may be to blame for his condition."

Alistair's blood ran cold at the mention of the Right of Tranquility. How bad could things be that they would even consider doing something like that to Ferelden's hero?

"What's wrong with him, exactly?" Alistair asked, voice low and worried.

The nurse frowned. "I will say this, and let it be a warning," she told them sympathetically. "He...is not the person you remember. I can't even be certain he will remember you."

Leliana gripped his arm, shaking nervously. She had cared deeply for Amell once, but his heart belonged to Morrigan, and it always would.

"Sometimes people just...break." the nurse explained. "There's rarely ever one direct cause, which makes it difficult to help the person."

There he was, staring blankly at a book open before him. Amell looked so much older than the last time Alistair had seen him. When the nurse said his name, he looked up and his eyes settled on the people with her. There was no recognition in those eyes. And then Alistair finally understood why his friend had not come to visit in so long: he had no idea there were still people wondering where he was.

"Who are they?" Amell queried, frowning slightly. The nurse gave an almost apologetic glance back towards Leliana and Alistair.

"I-I am Leliana." the Orlesian said, her voice quivering.

The mage smiled then. "That's a beautiful name." he said. That must have been too much, because at that moment, she began to weep. "Why are you crying? Are you sad?"

"It's...complicated." Alistair answered for her, taking a seat across from the mage, who still looked concerned. The nurse gently took Leliana by the hand and ushered her into the hallway, trying to comfort her.

They sat in silence for a long time. Alistair still couldn't believe that this man was his best friend. He had always been so full of life and energy and...Now he looked as if the Right of Tranquility had already been done. Seeing as how they were alone, Alistair removed the cloak, revealing his identity.

Amell looked at him then, suddenly very serious. "Do you feel it, too?" he asked in a whisper. "The blackness in your veins, I mean." Alistair just stared, uncertain of what to say. "There's something out there...It sleeps and hungers to destroy, to consume...They want to find it, but for different reasons..."

"What are you talking about?"

"_The song_...It's taken everything from me...It wants me..." Amel said, his eyes glazed over with something like madness. _So it must be the taint then,_ Alistair thought, _but how?_ He was still so young. It was progressing too fast. None of this made sense. "It is a sickness, a poison that claws at my mind, devouring every happy memory..."

Either his friend was crazy, or he knew something no one else understood.

The king stood up and walked to the door. He needed to check on Leliana and tell her of this. He would find her later in the madhouse's chapel, silently praying or sobbing, or both. The Urn of Sacred Ashes, she would say, the Ashes could make it better...

"Alistair..." He turned around only to see Amell watching him, eyes more lucid than before. That's when he realized that he hadn't given his name yet. "Do you ever wonder where Morrigan is?"

And suddenly it all made sense. The Witch had saved his life with a mysterious, not-quite-blood magic, sex ritual. Her child supposedly had the soul of an Old God...

It had to be a piece to the puzzle. It just had to be.


	25. Confession: Part II

**Title:** Confession: Part II

**Pairing:** Nothing official yet.

**A/N:** This is the second part of Confession, which ended with a cliffhanger. Sorry to say that this one does too because I'm a horrible person. Again, it's the same characters from Soul Mates, Grief Of All Kinds, Our Blood And Their Blood, and She Who Loved The Whole World. I just get such enjoyment out of writing Nicholas and Meri. Enjoy!

)O(

"Would you hate me if I said I loved you?"

For a long time he just stared at her, speechless, still not bothered by the rain soaking his clothes and hair. He'd surely catch a cold. Just what they needed with an army of darkspawn at their doorstep, waiting to be driven back into the horrid Deeps.

Meri desperately wished for him to say something, even if it was only to give her a good tongue-lashing for being stupid enough to open her big mouth. It wouldn't be the first time she had gotten into trouble that way. But Nicholas wasn't like that, she knew. She found herself no longer expecting him to treat her like any other human lord would.

Nicholas shivered then, probably drenched to the bone by now. This seemed to bring his mind back from wherever it had wandered off to. His eyes focused back on the present and he stared at her again, seeing her this time.

"You love me?" he asked quietly, the shock evident in his tone. Meri realized at that moment that she wasn't really certain of what she felt for him.

"I...I spent a long time hoping to find my soul mate," she explained to him, and to herself. "I watched a man sacrifice his life for my safety. And when he died...I felt guilty, of course, but I didn't feel..." The elf made a vague gesture with her hands, unsure of the right word. "I didn't feel incomplete. It wasn't just because I didn't love Nelaros. Once I got passed all those tormenting emotions about his death, there was nothing missing. I was still whole somehow. Which meant that my soul mate must be out there somewhere. And then..." Meri trailed off. He was looking at her with a distant expression. "This all sounds pretty silly, huh?"

Nicholas shook his head. A silence stretched between them after that, broken only by the falling raindrops. "We'll talk about this later." he declared, and Meri breathed a sigh of relief. It was not the answer she had been expecting, but somehow it was the answer she wanted.

The elf carefully walked down the palace steps and into the rain. They walked back to Eamon's estate in that same perfect silence.

News of the Landsmeet had already spread remarkably quickly throughout Denerim. This wasn't really surprising to Meri, who knew the inner workings of the city intimately by now. There were eyes everywhere. Nothing ever stayed private very long, Even before the official announcement was issued to the people, everyone had already heard at least ten versions of the events from ten different sources. Such was the way of city life, she supposed. And as appealing as living in nature was in its way, she wouldn't trade Denerim for anything.

Upon reaching the estate, they were ushered inside by Wynne who lectured them on responsibility and made a point of emphasizing how worried everyone had been. Then a servant brought them both warm towels and a change of clothes.

Once she was dry and presentable, save for her hopeless blond curls which remained defiant as ever, Meri sat on the gigantic bed that was much too soft after spending months sleeping on the ground. She was finding it difficult to get used to having a roof over her head, something she had taken advantage of, even in the Alienage where she saw people on a regular basis who did not have that luxury. You grew numb to it after a while, as horrible as it might seem, but it was the only way to cope.

That, and Meri's unwavering optimism. Why must it fail her now?

What if he hated her? What if she was so monumentally mistaken in thinking it was a good idea to tell him in the first place? Okay, maybe not a good idea exactly, but...

The elf stared blankly into the fireplace, its heat not enough to warm her. Suddenly she needed a drink. Something strong and smooth should suffice. Since Meri had worked for much of teenage years in a tavern, developing a taste for ale was inevitable. All things considered, she didn't like the effect it had on her. When she'd had her first drink, it only made her slightly nervous and giddy and very unaware of her surroundings, so much so that she hadn't even noticed when Soris walked in...

The second time was after her father announced that she would be getting married to an elf from Highever, and while Meri just nodded and went along with everything he said at the time, she was furious. When she'd gotten to the tavern, Meri cried into her arms which were folded on the table, hot tears of anger and despair fell from her eyes. Eventually, someone bought her a drink. It made her numb. The lack of feeling both frightened and exhilarated her.

Her generous benefactor had been a man with a woman clinging to his arm almost possessively. He didn't try to talk to Meri, which she would have been grateful for if she was in any mood to feel anything. She remembered seeing he and the woman hastily retreat into one of the guest tavern's rooms. Maybe she was one of those types who get off on kindness. Nonetheless, the ale was good at least.

And she knew there was a certain dwarf who could give her that, assuming he wasn't passed out already.

)O(

Meri was often an open book. That was what he had come to expect. But sometimes she would do or say something that forced him to rethink all that.

Nicholas had wanted to tell her that he could never hate her no matter what she did or said. It was impossible to hate Meri Tabris. Now she had introduced this concept of love into the mix of conflicting emotions that arose whenever he thought of her. It was too much to take in all at once.

Meri was convinced that when two people knew they were meant to be together, everything else just fell into place. There was still the Blight and Maker only knew what else to worry about. Why did they have to talk about this now?

Did he care for her? Yes. Love her? Maybe...But he wasn't sure it was the same idea of love Meri expected of her soul mate.

"Warden."

Nicholas looked up sharply. Oghren was standing in the doorway, a pint of ale in his hand. He couldn't even begin to fathom why the dwarf looked so serious.

"Is there something you need, Oghren?"

"Oh, not really." he drawled. "I just thought you might wanna know that yer elf friend told me she plans ta get good an' sloshed. Thought I might be able ta help."

"What?" Nicholas blinked.

"She wants to get drunk." the dwarf clarified. "Now, normally I wouldn't oppose, but I could tell she wasn't doin' it for the right reasons. I got nothin' against drinkin' ta forget yer troubles, but I'm already an old sot anyway, and I've got enough regrets without lettin' desperate Wardens drink themselves into oblivion on my watch. She deserves better than that." That serious and far away look returns to his eyes. He showed genuine concern for Meri. "Anyway, I thought you should know."

Nicholas had a feeling he knew where she might have gone.

)O(

Meri was pleased to find the old tavern much the same as she remembered.

Edwina looked about to scold her for having missed work for more than a year, but decided against it, instead offering a strange sort of smirk. She was just happy to see the girl alive at all. Besides, it seemed Edwina had hired a few willowy blonds to replace her anyway. They were tall and slender, each with their thin hair put up in a tight bun. Their smiles were fake. She would know. One had to play nice with the gentleman if one wanted to make a copper before the night was out. These girls probably wouldn't have much trouble with that seeing as how the men would be staring at their tits anyway.

"Don't let it get to you, my dear." Walter said, having noticed her looking at the new waitresses with disdain. "You know you'll always have a place here." He slid another pint across the bar to her, free of charge, which was good since the employee discount no longer applied to her.

The bartender had always had a soft spot for Meri. Whenever she was low on coin, he provided her with some simple tasks courtesy of certain "interested parties" as he called it. The things she had to do were not entirely legal, mostly involving lockpicks or a keen eye, rarely ever forcing her to use the knife she used to keep in her boot. Well, she still kept it there, sometimes. Meri took a long sip of the new ale. A feeling much like nostalgia washed over her.

A drunken knight, probably the bastard son of some minor lord and one of his soldiers, staggered over to inform her that this tavern wasn't for her kind and just who did she think she was anyway?

"I'm a Grey Warden." Meri responded calmly. "I'm the one whose gonna save your sorry ass from the darkspawn. See, that's the thing about being a Warden, we don't get to pick and choose who we want to live or die. I even have to go out of my way to save pathetic humans like you."

The pathetic human in question just stared at her with that look in his eyes that men get when they want to hit a defenseless woman. Luckily, Meri was not defenseless. There was always her dagger, if it should come to that.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Ser Morely." Walter stepped in at that moment. He didn't want this boy's father coming after his head if the knight came home missing a few teeth, or worse, reduced to a bloody pulp in a gutter somewhere because of his own stupidity. "Why don't you just leave the lady alone, aye?"

Ser Morely took one long look at the elf, sizing her up. She glared right back. It was a silent challenge. Eventually the knight decided it wasn't worth it.

"Aye," he confirmed, nodding at Walter. He muttered an apology to Meri before stumbling out into the rain. She turned back to her ale, grinning.

"Trying to get yourself killed, I see." Walter observed, frowning.

"Oh please." Meri scoffed. "After all the brushes with death I've had in the last year? That was nothing, trust me. You try facing a dragon or broodmother and then tell me if you're still intimidated by some drunken human."

Walter looked like he wanted to ask for specifics, but decided to continue frowning instead. "It's not him I'm worried about, but his family. We don't know what he could have done to us. Maker's Breath, woman, I should think you've learned that lesson after the first time."

Her blue orbs narrowed and the bartender seemed to have figured out that he might have gone a bit too far. She had that look in her eyes that women get when they want to grab a man's balls and slowly squeeze the life out of them that way. She really should have known better by now.

"You're right." Meri told him. "Nicholas says we can't afford to antagonize the nobility, especially now that they've agreed to stand by us."

Of course, thinking of _him_ led to all sorts of other things she was here to forget. Though part of her felt like maybe she could confide in Walter. It wasn't like he gained anything from judging her.

But before she could even speak, Nicholas materialized beside her.


	26. A Reason To Smile

**Title:** A Reason To Smile  
**A/N:** This is the last chapter of Meri and Nicholas' untitled and extremely short chronicle. There is a chance that I will post oneshots that take place prior to this point, but for now, this is the end.  
**Dedication:** I dedicate this chapter to McKenna, a classmate of mine who died suddenly this morning. We will all miss her.

)O(

"Well, speak of the archdemon." Meri smirked while Nicholas watched her. She didn't know how long he had been there and she couldn't care less.

Walter took the silent cue and went somewhere almost out of earshot. He wanted to give them the illusion of privacy, but Meri knew better.

"What are you doing?" Nicholas asked her, sounding slightly disappointed or maybe annoyed. She knew he wasn't referring to that very moment. She just watched him, and it seemed he was fighting some kind of inner battle with his thoughts and his words. Finally he sighed and said, "I should apologize." Meri did not expect this.

"Why?" she questioned.

"Earlier, when you..." For some reason he couldn't say it. Not that he needed to. "How I reacted was...rude. I just wasn't expecting..._that_...and I should have...I'm sorry..."

Meri couldn't believe it. The great Nicholas, master of words, was stumbling over a simple apology, and an unnecessary one at that.

"You said we'd talk about it later." she pointed out.

"Yes, and I...think there may be something to this whole soul mate idea of yours."

She tried not to look too ecstatic. "Really?"

Nicholas smiled, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her. But then he said something about how they should be getting back to the estate. There was a storm coming, he said, and they were supposed to leave for Redcliffe first thing in the morning. That's where the archdemon would be. That's where the Blight would end. Little did they know, the dragon was actually headed towards Denerim with an army in tow, and they would have to march all the way back here tomorrow morning anyway.

She left the tavern with one last glance back at Walter who winked approvingly and grinned at her.

Once, Meri gave a copper to a traveling gypsy woman who claimed she could predict her destiny by staring at the lines on her palm. Soris had said it was a scam but she ignored him and handed the woman the coin and her open palm. The gypsy told Meri she had a fairly short life line, but there were other lines that could change that: a decision that may mean her death. Both paths led to a very deep fame line. The gypsy also said Meri would find find love before the end, her soul mate.

The gypsy looked at her fate line with sadness in her eyes, but never told her why.

When Riordan explained the reason a Warden must slay the archdemon, that it meant self-sacrifice for the good of everyone, she understood.

)O(

"When were you planning on telling me that Morrigan knew of a way for one of us not to die tomorrow?"

Meri looked up in alarm. "How did you...?"

"Leliana," Nicholas said by way of an explanation. It was good enough for her.

"It's not so simple," Meri sighed. "Morrigan wanted you or Alistair to...impregnate her, so that when the time comes for the archdemon to die, its soul will seek out the child instead of the Grey Warden to kill it. I trust her, but I can't do that to a child, and we don't know what someone with the soul of an Old God will be capable of."

He was silent for a long time, letting her words sink in. "Where is she?" he asked then. "Maybe I can at least...talk to her. If it means that no one has to die..." She felt sorry for him. They'd all seen so much death, especially Nicholas. It made it that much more painful to tell him that Morrigan was gone. There was no way out.

"Alistair will be king after all this is over." Meri reasoned when Nicholas demanded to know why she was so insistent on sacrificing herself. "And you... Well, you're a Cousland, possibly the last of your family line. And who knows? Maybe Riordan will succeed and all of this worrying will just be a something to laugh about later." The elf forced a smile. "But aside from him, I have the least to lose."

Before he could say another word, Meri sped off to her room. There, she sat in silence and stared at her hands, wondering if that gypsy was still out there somewhere. She wanted very much to lose herself in a good story at that moment.

)O(

Her mother always used to say that last words for people who had given up. So it followed that the very last thing she ever said to Meri was. "Wait here." Then Adaia ran off into the streets to talk to the human guardsmen. She died without a weapon in hand, though for all her skill, Meri doubted it would have helped much. But Meri was sick of waiting.

Her companions all said their goodbyes, in the almost inevitable event that someone didn't make it out of this alive.

She asked Nicholas to look after Dane for her, then she knelt down in front of the war hound and said softly, "Now you be a good boy, you hear?" The dog whimpered in response and Meri blinked back the tears that pricked at her eyes.

"You should smile, you know." the elf told the noble. The were the best damn last words she could come up with before entering the city with its massive horde of darkspawn.

"There's not much to smile about." Nicholas stated.

"Then that should be reason enough, right?"

She didn't know what happened to a person's soul after their death. Some called it the Fade or the Beyond. But whatever the case, she had a feeling it was somewhere beautiful.

First there was the shock that somehow, despite the odds, they had made it this far. The dragon was mortally wounded, helplessly awaiting the end. And as her dagger drained the last of its life force - the creature claiming hers in turn - Meri smiled.

Then there was the most beautiful light she had ever known.

)O(

Alistair was crowned king. He was to wed Anora in the spring. Meri loved the spring. Meri was dead...

This was all his mind would allow him in the way of thought at that moment.

"My friend, I can not image how you could have aided Ferelden more." Alistair smiled, though they all grieved behind their smiles. "Is there any boon that you would ask of Ferelden's king?"

Somehow Nicholas found his voice. "If she was here with us today, Meri would refuse a reward, and so I shall ask for one on her behalf, if that's all right." The king nodded, so Nicholas continued. "I ask that the elves be treated fairly for once. Perhaps there is room in your Court for someone from the Alienage?"

"Of course," Alistair said without hesitation.

"Thank you, your Majesty."

"Well then, that takes care of her reward, but what about yourself? Surely there is something Ferelden can do for you after all you've done for us?"

Nicholas thought about it. He could have requested anything at that moment, like that Howe's family pay the price for his crimes or even a homeland for the Dalish. But there was only one thing he wanted.

"Her sacrifice, as well as that of all the Grey Wardens who gave their lives during the Blight as they always have and always will, should not be forgotten again."

Alistair could not have agreed more. The arrangements were made for a statue and a magnificent tomb just for Meri. The funny thing was that Nicholas knew she would have hated it. There were few things the elf despised more than being fussed over needlessly. It was almost enough to bring a smile to his lips.

She also would have hated this funeral. It was a bleak and quiet affair, held at that strange point in between autumn and winter where the trees are already bare but the chill hadn't quite set in yet. This time of year reminded him of death, which reminded him of everyone he knew who was dead and then of those he didn't know. The funeral only served to remind him of her death. How was this supposed to do Meri's sacrifice justice?

"A copper for your thoughts?"

Nicholas knew that voice. But no, it was impossible. Then he remembered what Meri always used to say; that impossible things were just unlikely possibilities.

Nicholas turned around, and sure enough, there was Fergus. His features were tired and etched with months of grief and worry, but he looked glad to be alive, and very happy to have his little brother back. All was not lost, after all.

Nicholas moved wordlessly towards the stone slab where Meri's body lay, and Fergus followed. "Friend of yours?" he wondered, before recognition flashed in his eyes. "Maker, th-that's the girl from the tavern, yes? _She_ was the one who saved all our asses from the darkspawn?"

"Well, I helped, and we weren't alone either." And indeed, their companions who had faithfully agreed to risk their lives and follow a group of people accused of being traitors, murderers, and lunatics across Ferelden. They might as well have been mad; the odds were against them from the beginning. If the darkspawn didn't stop them, the very nation they were trying to save from itself would. Maybe they were all just a collection of outcasts and crazed individuals who managed to overcome their prejudices towards one another in pursuit of an equally insane goal.

And Meri had made it possible.

"You..." a famine voice that was shrill and shaking called out to him, "You're the reason she's dead! It's your fault, shem! And she thought you were different..."

He knew the woman from the Alienage: she was Meri's cousin, Shianni, and clearly she had had too much to drink.

At that moment, a man intervened. "Shianni, you're making a scene." he said gently, taking the elf's arm. "We all miss her, but this isn't what Meri would have wanted and you know it."

"But, Uncle Cyrion...he..."

"That's enough." Meri's father said firmly. "I won't hear anymore of this from you. Not here. Understood?"

Shianni nodded and turned to walk away. Cyrion looked at Nicholas apologetically, fixing him with those deep blue eyes, and for a moment it was like she was alive again.

He didn't know what he would do now. Of course, he was obligated to return to Highever with Fergus and tie up some loose ends. After that, he supposed the possibilities were limitless. The Wardens still needed a Commander. Gwaren still needed a Teyrn. Ferelden still needed a hero.

Or maybe he would just disappear for a while. Nicholas would inevitably have to accept the extremely depressing realization that, wherever he went. whatever he did, he would still be broken because he would still be without _her_.

Something was missing.


	27. Who Am I?

**Title:** Who Am I?  
**Pairing: **None; Alistair/f!Cousland friendship.  
**A/N:** More about Addison.

)O(

She was a Grey Warden, the heroes of old, sworn to stop the Blight no matter the cost. The Joining ritual had not been what she was expecting. Apparently, the Wardens kept many closely guarded secrets for the sake of survival, and now the Wardens were gone. It was just her and Alistair. But the secrets remained.

"You know," he had said upon meeting her, "there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is..."

"How about you stop thinking of me as a woman?" Addison had suggested coldly, folding her arms over her chest.

"Yes, ser!"

Addison was still numb. The slaughter of her family felt like a lifetime away, as did Ostagar. How was she supposed to look upon the world with this new perspective? They were charged with stopping the Blight. Even though Teyrn Loghain had shown himself a traitor just like Howe; leaving the army, the king, and the Wardens for dead. But the worst part was that he blamed her order for the deed.

How were they supposed to gather allies against the darkspawn with a bounty on their heads?

She couldn't officially count Fergus among the dead, but they had little chance of finding him now. Unless he had managed to escape the Wilds where darkspawn were erupting from beneath the ground...

In the midst of these pessimistic thoughts, a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Father told Addison to remember her duty. As a Grey Warden, she would have to find a way, because no one else would. As a Cousland, she could not stop until the archdemon was defeated and Rendon Howe was brought to justice.

Not that she was completely alone in this either. But Alistair was still preoccupied with his own grief over Duncan's death. And with the addition of Morrigan the Witch, Sten the qunari soldier turned murderer, and Leliana the Orlesian former Chantry sister (and Maker only knew what she was before that), maybe they would even survive.

)O(

Alistair emerged from his tent just after sunrise; the nightmares had kept him up half the night. He supposed his fellow Warden was having just as much trouble sleeping as he was. Addison was crouching beside their pathetic pile of wood and steel, trying to coax a spark from it that could be used for cooking breakfast by repeatedly striking a bit of quartz against the metal. She was intensely focused on the task at hand. Though, how exactly she learned to make a fire growing up in a castle was anyone's guess.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" he asked. The woman looked up in alarm before realizing who it was that had spoken. "Was it the nightmares?"

No response.

She returned to her work. Alistair took a few cautious steps forward. When she didn't react to this, he knelt down next to the fire pit. Addison turned her gaze towards him again, and this time he saw the dark circles under her eyes. There was no way the nightmares were solely to blame.

"Addison..." He reached out and touched her arm. She froze but said nothing. "Addison, how long have you been awake?"

"Since before dawn." she replied quietly, continuing to build the fire.

"It's not just the darkspawn, is it?"

"No." she answered.

"Then why?"

Addison brought the stone down very hard upon the steel a few times, producing some sparks, but none that stayed long. "Because, Alistair, I can't afford to fall apart right now!" she snapped, suddenly rising to her feet so that she towered above him. That's when he noticed she was wearing armor. "I can't..."

Alistair didn't understand where all this anger was coming from. He stood up as well and took her by the shoulders. "Look, you need to rest, okay? You're no good to us exhausted."

She just stood there for a long time, and he forced a smile.

"Is that an order?" Addison wanted to know.

"What? No, I just..." But her tired eyes were pleading with him. "Uh, yes. It is an order, I suppose."

She nodded, and without another word, walked away from the abandoned fire and disappeared into her tent.

The rest of the camp slowly began to wake up. Not that they would be going anywhere for a while.

)O(

Addison slept for most of the day, occasionally jolted awake by a particularly gruesome nightmare or the dog lumbering into her tent to check in on her every few hours. He would rest his massive furry self beside her and, if that did not wake her up, he proceeded to lick her face. Finally, she acknowledged the hound's presence.

She made an annoyed sound in her throat and turned over to face him. Then she smiled, which surprised them both.

"You hungry, boy?" she queried, searching her bag for some leftover meat scraps he might like. The Mabari's face brightened. "I spoil you, you know." Addison handed him the food which he looked at and sniffed for a moment, seemingly uncertain, before deciding it was sufficient.

He gave a thankful bark, but there was a distinct hint of disappointment in his eyes.

"It's certainly not the same as Nan's pork bits, but it will do." The dog whimpered at that. Addison curled up on the bedroll and stroked the back of his neck reassuringly. "Nothing ever will be the same, I guess. We've no choice but to make do with what we have...Do you think I should tell the others, boy? I just don't know if I could stand the pity. I'd rather they think I'm a cold-hearted bitch than an unworthy leader."

Then Addison heard someone outside her tent.

"What?" she demanded, closing her eyes.

"Uh...It's Alistair. I brought you some dinner, if you're hungry."

She told him to enter and he did, carrying with him a bowl of somewhat edible looking stew.

"I didn't expect you to be up yet." he remarked.

"Thor woke me," she replied, scratching behind the dog's ears.

A strained silence passed between them in which she contemplated whether or not to confide in Alistair. She couldn't keep all this bottled up anymore, that much was for certain, but she wasn't sure she would be able to put it into words yet either.

So she decided to try anyway.

)O(

"You see that shield?" Addison was pointing straight ahead. He did indeed notice the shield leaning against the cloth wall of her tent. "Do you recognize the heraldry?"

Alistair vaguely recalled another time that he had seen it, but not enough to place the noble house it belonged to.

"The Couslands ruled the Teyrnir of Highever for a very long time." she started to explain. "I don't remember exactly how long; I never paid much attention to lessons on family history." Addison looked away then. "Maker, I wish I had now..."

Alistair wasn't stupid: he could put the pieces together. she was the daughter of a family second in power only to the royal line of Ferelden. The only question was: what had happened to bring her here, now a Grey Warden? Why had she been at Ostagar in the first place?

She appeared to steel herself, and then launched into a tale of deception and murder. According to her, this Arl Howe person had flooded her family's castle with his troops and tried to kill everyone inside. Duncan saved her, which was so very like Duncan, and now here she was.

He felt like an ass for not having known, or at least sensed something was deeply troubling her besides a lack of sleep and a Blight. This man had betrayed her, and now if they did osmehow manage to live through all this, there would be no home for Addison to return to.

"Fergus is missing and presumed dead," she lamented. "You know, all of this...running and planning and fighting that we've been doing...It's...nice somehow. The...emptiness of not having them here isn't always at the forefront of my mind. I have to be strong. I didn't get to where I am by letting anything stand in my way." Then she laughed bitterly. "Although, maybe that's not saying much considering where I am now. Who am I anyway?"

"You're a Grey Warden." Alistair stated, unsure of what else to say. This earned another bitter laugh from the woman.

"I suppose I am."

It went without saying that he would not tell the others, at least not yet.


	28. Honesty

**Title: **Honesty

**Pairing:** Gorim/f!Aeducan

**A/N: **A brief character study of our favorite princess.

)O(

If anyone was ever inclined as to mention one fault about Ingrid Aeducan it would be that she was rather impulsive. Of course, no one said a word out of fear for their lives, or more likely their castes. Besides, it was believed that she got that trait from her mother, and everyone in Orzammar knew better than to speak ill of their late queen.

It was not a positive quality for a ruler of course, but luckily Ingrid's father was ever the practical sort, thinking everything through until he came to a fitting decision, and once he did there was no changing his mind.

Naturally, it was expected that Ingrid would one day marry someone who could keep her from taking such risks without any forethought, as she was apt to do.

Until then, she had Gorim.

She didn't know where she would be without her second. He knew that sometimes his lady needed him to be the voice of reason. Unfortunately, Ingrid was just as stubborn and determined to get her way as she was impulsive, likely the product of being raised a princess.

For as long as she could remember, the world had been hers. From the time she could speak servants would heed her every order, no matter how childish or impossible it was. She was brought wonderous things from the surface and quickly got used to being treated like a queen.

If she was spoiled it was only because that, too, was expected of her.

But as she got older the things she wanted began to surprise even her. No longer did she care for finery and shiny trinkets. No, what Ingrid Aeducan wanted most of all was to fight. She no longer cared for politics or the throne, and she found herself conflicted between her duty and what she desired most.

. . .

"I want an honest answer: what do you think of me as a person? Just forget for a moment that I'm a princess."

Gorim seemed surprised by the question. "That is...difficult, my lady. It is after all so much of who you are."

"Oh?"

"Well...you have the blood of a great Paragon in your veins. The Ancestors favor you and your House. It's not easy to just ignore that."

"They favor me _because_ of my House." she corrected. "Honestly, Gorim, if you were to meet me on the street and not know who I was, what would you think?"

He thought for a moment. "You are a noblewoman, with or without the title. Your heart is always in the right place. You never let the often convoluted way of politics get to you or influence your actions. You could do anything you wanted to just by setting your mind to it because you never give up. You are strong and good, that is why Orzammar loves you, my lady. It is why I..." Gorim trailed off.

Ingrid was speechless. Then she smiled and said, "You always know what to say."

He always knew exactly what she wanted to hear.


	29. Never So Simple

**Title:** Never So Simple  
**Pairing:** Gorim/f!Aeducan/Gorim's Wife (Hilda)  
**A/N:** An alternate fate for our princess' loyal second than what is presented to us in-game. Why exactly would he marry another woman so soon unless he was suffering from partial amnesia?

)O(

Gorim awoke with a severe pain in his leg and no memory of where he was or how he had gotten there or why he was there when was supposed to be doing...something very important. He thought back as far as his mind would allow, but found only snippets of memories involving a woman with fiery orange hair. Gorim had no idea who she was or if she was even real for that matter.

At that moment another woman - not the one from his mind - entered the room. She was also a dwarf, but she had untidy brunette hair that hung in her eyes, which were a lovely green. So unlike the rich and brown orbs that belonged to the stranger he presumably once knew.

"Morning, stranger," the dwarf greeted him brightly. "You've caused quite a stir, falling over in front of my father's wagon like you did. You ought to learn to rest now and then, good ser. Just what was you running from anyway?"

Gorim thought about the question. "I don't know," he admitted. "All I remember is that I had to leave Orzammar, and I was on my way to Denerim, the human capitol."

"Well then, at least you know where you came from and where you're goin'. That's the way any great adventure starts." She smiled. "My name's Dunhilda, by the way, though everyone calls me Hilda."

"Pleased to meet you, my lady. I am Gorim Saelac."

"No need to be so formal, Gorim Saelac." Hilda grinned at him. "At any rate, I am pleased to tell you that you have made it to Denerim. My father picked you up off the road, fixed up the little bump on your head and did what he could about the leg wound."

"Will I be able to fight again?" he asked, suddenly panicked. This did explain why his memory was so fuzzy, but he _did_ know that he was a warrior, a knight...

"Only time will tell, Ser Gorim." Hilda replied, blinking her beautiful green eyes at him.

"I'm sorry to sound so ungrateful, my lady. I am truly in your debt."

"Actually, you are in my father's debt." Hilda said. "He's a smith, perhaps the best in the city. Well, except Wade, but he's only worth it if you're willing to wait a year for your armor. My father has the finest dwarven made crafts outside of Orzammar."

Gorim was trying to think of a polite way to tell her to get the point, when at last she did.

"So you can repay him by working for him until your leg heals and you go on your merry way. Do we have a deal?"

He was no merchant. Still, he would need some way to make money and build a life here on the surface. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing, at least temporarily, until he got his memories in order again.

"It's a deal, my lady. Thank you."

She smirked. "I thought I told you to call me Hilda."

Gorim and Hilda grew closer as time passed and the seasons changed. She showed him around the city and taught him how to be a merchant. Eventually, their friendship blossomed and he began to look forward to seeing her and enjoyed her company more and more. It was remarkably easy to love her, and it soon became apparent that Hilda too wanted something more than just friendship.

It was a warm night in Denerim. Such weather vaguely reminded him of Orzammar, thought the air on the surface was fresher and it moved more freely. Gorim supposed the fact that he and Hilda had gone out to dinner together could be interpreted as a date. He loved the way she laughed, the way she danced, the way she looked at him with those lovely green eyes of hers.

"What are you thinking of, my knight?" she asked, grinning.

"You, of course," Gorim said as he leaned in to kiss her...

_...Hold me, please, just one last time..._

Gorim froze. He suddenly remembered how the dwarven woman with the fiery hair had stared at him through the bars of a prison cell, tears in her eyes, which weren't green like Hilda's at all. Why couldn't he remember who she was?

"What? Do I have something in my teeth?" Hilda wanted to know. "You were going to kiss me." Yes, he was, but...

_...If my daughter still lives, you must take these things to her. I trust you with this task, Gorim. Please find Ingrid and make sure she gets the letter and the shield..._

"Ingrid..." Gorim muttered, causing Hilda to frown.

"What's going on?" she demanded. "Hey, talk to me, please!"

"Did your father find anything laying near me on the road? Maybe something I was carrying or...?"

"Well I don't...Why? Have you lost something?" Hilda asked, refusing to answer his question until he explained the reason he was acting so strangely.

"It seems I may have, yes." Gorim replied. "Please, Hilda, I need to know if your father found a shield and a letter."

Hilda sighed and gestured to a nearby chest. Inside was the shield once belonging to the Paragon Aeducan, brazened with the symbol of his House, and a letter addressed to Ingrid Aeducan. The letter was unopened, and he wasn't about to read it now, despite the cluse it may contain as to why he had left Orzammar in the first place.

"That's a very fine shield," Hilda remarked. He realized that she was still standing behind him. Some knight he was; she probably figured he thought she wasn't worth a damn after the way he had just been treating her.

"Well I should think so considering a Paragon once wielded it." he said. "I have to go."

"Why?" the woman asked in a quiet voice, her green eyes pleading.

"There's something I have to do." He had to find his lady and make things right again.

"Always so vague, my knight," Hilda responded bitterly. "You can barely walk, Gorim. Not to mention you haven't fully repaid your debt to my father yet. You're not going anywhere."

"I may not be able to fight, but I can walk." He stood up and limped to where she stood by the door. "I'm sorry, but I made a promise to the king of Orzammar. I have to bring the Shield of Aeducan and this letter to his daughter, assuming she is still alive. I don't know what will happen when I find her, _if_ I find her. But I have to try, Hilda, you must understand."

She stared at him helplessly, much like Ingrid had that day in the dungeons of the royal palace...

"But..." Hilda's green eyes welled up with tears.

"Tell your father I will always be grateful to him for his hospitality." Gorim said gently. "And I will remember you fondly; I only hope you can say the same for me." He brushed his lips against hers for the first and last time. "Goodbye, Hilda." he said.

"Goodbye, Ser Gorim..."

He realized as he was leaving Denerim that he probably would have married Hilda. He could see himself in another universe as a merchant in the city with a beautiful wife and maybe even a child. But Gorim had pledged his loyalty to Lady Aeducan long ago, and he must honor that by doing as the king asked of him. He didn't know where to begin searching for her. Gorim was on a quest of blind faith. Hopefully, it would work out in the end, Ancestors willing.

His life was never meant to be so simple anyway, especially since he had entangled himself with the destiny of a warrior princess. And Gorim was determined to follow her into the Deep Roads and back if that was what it took to accomplish his mission. Ingrid was a Paragon of Beauty, but when she donned her helmet there was no stopping her. He knew that. He knew that she had to be alive somewhere on the surface.

Maybe if he saw her Gorim would remember exactly why he fell in love with her. Sadly, it may also mean remembering why he wasn't with her now.


	30. Drama Queen

**Title:** Drama Queen  
**Pairing:** F/Cousland/Alistair/Zevran  
**A/N:** Written for the BSN First Kiss prompt over at the Zevran page. The prompt was posted a long time ago, and somehow this got lost in the myriad of documents on my computer. Oh well, better late than never, right?

My username over there is The Velveteen Rabbit by the way, if you care.

)O(

His Warden is a lot of things: beautiful, young, innocent as a war-hardened woman can be, and most of all recently heartbroken. She isn't really _his_ Warden.

She was far from perfect, but her most evident fault would have to be that she loved too easily. She loved everyone, and trusted them, too. Most likely a product of the sheltered life she had led as a noble's daughter.

And now she is clad head to toe in leather, standing in his room, offering herself to him. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't dream of refusing such a gorgeous woman as she. The Warden was looking for a straightforward, emotionless fuck. That, he could give her, no more no less. But he knew that wasn't what she needed.

"You are not thinking clearly, my dear."

"How can you say that?" She looks hurt, more so than she already did that is.

"The only reason you want this now is because of him. You miss him, or maybe you think you would be getting back at him somehow. But it doesn't work like that. Don't we all have enough regrets as it is?"

She is not a woman to be reasoned with. Not now. Not when she scarcely has anything left to live for aside from the cold burden of duty. As a Grey Warden, she is charged with ending the Blight, whatever the cost.

He knows that feeling; when the little bit of joy you have is swept away, leaving you devoid of everything, alone in an uncaring world.

She insists that she has thought this through. This is what she wants, even if it isn't what she needs.

"I want to begin again," she says. "He was the mistake. Not you."

The only reason he would consider her request while she is in such a state is because it could be worse. And Maker forbid his Grey Warden winds up dead in a gutter somewhere after a rough night with a seemingly nice stranger. He could always direct her towards the Pearl, but then what kind of a friend would he be?

She's tired of knights in shining armor, so maybe an assassin would suffice, she thinks.

The kiss is rushed and not at all familiar. They simply didn't kiss. That was a fact. He would make jokes and she would blush, but nothing more ever came of it...until now. And it was only because she needed to forget, needed to believe that impossible things really could happen. Still, nothing more would come of it. Tomorrow the affects of whatever she had been drinking tonight would have worn off and they will avoid each other for a time. She will need space and he will respect that. She will grieve tomorrow, and he will be the last person she wants to see.

It is pleasurable, but neither of them are entirely invested in it either. The act of sex itself is nothing new to him. But there is no substance here, no passion. She thinks this is what she needs right now, and he is willing to oblige. We all make mistakes. He breathes in the scent of her mixed with that of the leather, and both unspeakably enticing. He threads his fingers through her hair. She begs him to be anything but gentle.

Afterwords, they kiss some more, and he notes that her eyes are shut. Maybe she wishes he was someone else, a certain someone who broke her heart over something so childish. She had been emotionally dependant on Alistair. It was the only way they could get through these dark times.

They were like children in a sense. Once, Alistair gave her a rose and kissed her. She hadn't stopped smiling for days, and every time they'd glance at one another, she would giggle like a girl half her age.

They should have known young love always ends in tragedy. The good ones do anyway.

"I love you, Zevran." she breaths, and he is shocked she actually said the right name.

"Don't say that." the elf replies firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because you're drunk." But she requires more explanation than that. "And even if you did; everyone who has ever loved me has ended up dead. You know this."

"I can think of worse fates." the woman murmured. "Zevran...?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He simply kissed her, knowing there was nothing more to be said.

She deserved better than anyone could give her...especially him.

And everyone acts surprised when she waltzes through the darkspawn horde, taps the archdemon on the nose, and turns to dust before their eyes. She never wanted to be a hero. For her sake, Zevran stares daggers at the man who will be king. No assassination attempts today though, not at a funeral, because even the Crows respected the memory of the Hero of Ferelden.


	31. Something Deeper

**Title:** Somewhere Deeper

**Pairing:** f!Cousland/Alistair friendship.

**A/N:** This is another look at Addison Cousland post-Ostagar.

**Warning:** Contains description of self-injury.

)O(

_"But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defensless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get."_

_- John Green (Paper Towns)_

)O(

They were in the Circle Tower when Alistair first noticed the scars on her arms. Wynne was healing her, and either she didn't see them or didn't mention it. There was no way those thin white lines of slightly raised skin could have been the result of a darkspawn attack, or any wild animal for that matter. The cuts were too precise and controlled. So either someone did that to her, which would be bad, or...

Or she did it to herself.

Which would be _really_ bad.

It isn't until the demons are dead and the Circle is put back in order, and most importantly back in to the possession of the mages, that he finally works up the nerve to ask about her scars. Maybe he shouldn't, but he has to know for sure.

They are in camp, somewhere on the road between the Tower and Redcliffe. When they get there, he plans to tell Addison his secret. It is the reason Loghain wants him dead, more than just for being a Grey Warden. It was the reason Arl Eamon took him in as a child. Because of who his father was...

"How did you get these scars?" he blurts out, taking her hand and looking at each one closely. The cuts weren't deep enough or wide enough to cause serious harm, as if whoever did this knew what they were doing.

"I..." Addison's voice falters. She could lie to him, but she doesn't. "I just wanted to feel something."

It is as he feared.

)O(

When she was younger, Addison used to experiment with pain. This was before Fergus trained her as a warrior. This was when she was still under the ridiculous notion that she could do it all herself.

She'd read about Ash Warriors, followers of an ancient dwarven fighting technique where one disciplines their body to block out all pain and thus never fall in combat until the last foe is dead. They also fight alongside their Mabari hounds. And so Addison thought she could teach herself to do this as well. She already had a war dog, so she was half way there.

The other part would be more difficult because of her rather low pain tolerance at that time. She trained her mind to achieve perfect clarity by focusing on each individual nerve that throbbed with life and electricity. In this way, pain became more of an idea than a sensation. The cuts were never deep enough to scar or accidentally nick an important vein. She knew better than that. Unfortunately, she could not test her new found skill in actual combat, so Addison abandoned her research and asked Fergus to teach her the art of the sword and shield.

Then, after seeing so much death in such a short time, Addison found she could feel nothing at all anymore. Pain was something, she figured, so why not? Maybe she hadn't been thinking clearly. But that didn't matter because it made her feel alive. However, due to lack of practice, she must have goten careless. There were scars, and this frightened her, but not enough to stop. It was just too good. Even though she was a warrior and this kind of weakness was supposed to be beneath her.

"Promise me you won't do this again." Alistair says. And she does. A Cousland keeps their promises.

She never really wanted to harm herself, just that part of her that was beyond saving.

"Okay," she replies. "I promise."


	32. Sisters

**Title:** Sisters

**Pairing:** None

**A/N:** King Alistair converses with a blood mage who is soon to be executed and decides to help her. Review please!

)O(

He was a templar. Sort of. And as such, he was supposed to hate mages. They were evil, dangerous, grumpy abominations lying in wait. They were not to be trusted, least of all pitied. He knew that, and maybe part of him even believed it, but this...this was _not_ justice.

A blood mage from the Free Marches waited in Fort Drakon to be executed. He requested to see her, not knowing what to expect. Alistair certainly didn't expect her to look so...delicate. Wavy dark hair and fair skin; she looked very much like someone he knew.

And they were going to put her to death just for being what she was.

"Your Majesty," she said. "To what do I owe this pleasure? Is it customary for the king to hang around with the condemned in their final hours?"

"Not really." Alistair answered honestly. "But I tend to be the exception. And speaking of exceptions, I thought they typically sent blood mages to Aeonar. Did they bring you here all the way from the Free Marches?"

"No," the mage shook her head. "My mother was born to a noble family, but she fell in love with an apostate and became pregnant with me. Her family disowned her and she and my father fled to Ferelden with me. They settled in Lothering, and a few years later my brother and sister were born. Neither of them have magical talents, thank the Maker, or the templars would have dragged them down long ago." She was very quiet for a moment. "My brother was...killed during the Blight. I...think the Seekers wanted to get to my sister through me...I just wish I knew if Marian was okay or..."

She was trying to protect her sister.

He didn't know who the Seekers were, but if she had gotten herself into trouble with them, it was probably bad.

"And when they couldn't use you anymore, they sentenced you." Alistair finished for her. It happened more than the Chantry would like people to believe. She obviously wasn't stupid. She knew that she didn't have much time left, so why not tell him everything? Maybe he could even help her.

Alistair took a seat across from the mage and focused on her eyes. "I think I can help you, but you have to tell me the truth, okay? You can't really be in any more trouble than you are right now so there's no reason to hold anything back. So, I know you're an apostate, but are you a blood mage?"

He was still a Grey Warden. Technically, he had the power to conscript her if it came to that. But doing so would only earn the Chantry's ire. The king couldn't afford to go around associating with maleficarum.

"I never hurt anyone..." she told him. "My father may have taught me some...less than Chantry-condoned practices before his death. And then we had to leave Lothering to escape the darkspawn, so we returned to the Free Marches because Mother said she had relatives who refused to pretend they didn't know her. But Kirkwall is practically ruled by the templars, you see, being an apostate and being a blood mage might as well be the same thing..."

She was crying now. He didn't know what to do when a woman was crying, especially a woman he was supposed to despise on principle.

"Hey, it will be all right." he attempted to soothe her. "I'm going to contact my friend and she will save your life. I know she will."

"Why would you, _the king_, do that for me?" Sympathy wasn't a positive trait for an executioner, after all.

"I was trained as a templar." Alistair admitted, seeing her become immediately tense. "So I know how unfair they can be. What's your name?"

"I'm Bethany Hawke, but you can just call me Beth."

"Well, Beth, the priest should be along any minute to perform the last rites." he said.

"Oh, I see." Beth's eyes flashed. "That's just a formality, right? I mean, we both know what the Chant says about my kind: 'They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.'"

He left her with a promise. She wasn't going to die tomorrow. Not if he had anything to say about it.

The priest entered the cell just as he was about to go. He obviously hadn't been expecting to see the king of Ferelden here.

"May the Maker bless you, your Majesty." he said, bowing deeply.

Alistair just nodded and kept walking, but he could hear the priest's voice a moment later, praying for Beth's soul. He looked back and saw that the other man was trying not to touch her or meet her eyes, as if afraid that somehow her evilness would rub off on him.

Alistair returned to the palace that night and sent word to an old friend, who was now the Warden-Commander, asking for a favor.

He could not sleep that night, and a he had a feeling that neither could Beth.

)O(

It was a cold day, wind howling, the clouds heavy with rain. Alistair took one guard with him to Fort Drakon very early that morning.

"Permission to speak freely, Sire?" the guard asked. She was a capable young woman and a valued soldier. He knew she could be trusted with this.

"Of course," he said.

"Well, why exactly are we doin' this?" she asked him. "I mean, ain't there more important things to attend to than watchin' some maleficar get 'er head cut off?" Actually, they were going to hang her, but that was beside the point.

"You would think so, huh? Look, I won't let them kill her, okay? It's not Beth's fault."

The guard looked at him strangely, perhaps wondering why he was on a first name basis with a blood mage. But all she said was: "As you say, your Majesty."

He didn't expect a large crowd for an execution in the middle of winter, but as it happened, such an event was just the thing Denerim's citizens wanted to see.

Alistair looked up and saw Beth standing on the scaffold in chains and anti-magic bracers. Her eyes were swollen and he could tell she hadn't slept hardly at all. But the poor girl was determined to face the gallows with her head held high.

_Solona, where are you?_

"'Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts.'" the priest quoted the prophetess' last words. "'Let mine be the last sacrifice.'"

"Do you have any final words before you face your death, mage?" the executioner wanted to know. He was a burly man with a dark fuzzy beard, possibly from the Anderfels.

Beth shook her head, clearly struggling to remain calm, wondering if Alistair truly would keep his promise.

"Andraste spoke unto the masses, 'Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity.'" Then the priest murmured venomously, "May the Maker have mercy on your soul, maleficar."

It was amazing how the Chantry could strive to live up to the example of Andraste yet at the same time condemn innocent people. They thought every mage was doomed to end up possessed by demons, and every mage was guilty of the Tevinter Imperium's sin.

The executioner placed the rope around Beth's neck and Alistair saw the fear in her eyes. For a brief moment everything became still and silent.

"Wait, stop!"

The crowd immediately moved to either side, forming a isle down the center. There she was. The Warden-Commander arrived just in time. By now she was used to being in front of large groups of people, and so the Hero of Ferelden stood before the crowd and said, "I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription. This woman will become a Grey Warden."

This resulted in outrage from zealots who wanted to see Beth hang and also from idiots who had wanted to watch someone die for the entertainment factor. But everyone knew the Right of Conscription was absolute. Not even the king could revoke it now. They would get over it in time.

"Come on, move it!" the guard he brought with him directed the mob of angry citizens starving for violence. "No one's dyin' this morning so let's keep it that way!"

That soldier had earned a promotion.

"You always come through for me, Sol." Alistair said, smiling.

"Of course I do. That's what I'm here for." she replied. "And I get a new recruit. It works out for everyone. Well, except the templars, I suppose."

"Thank you so much!" Beth, now free of her bindings, ran up to them. "I will never be able to repay you, your Majesty and...I'm sorry, but I don't know your name, miss..."

"I'm Solona Amell, and I'm afraid you're not out of the woods yet..." Sol frowned. He knew she was thinking about the Joining. "But that can all be explained later."

"Amell...?" Beth muttered, seemingly in shock.

Solona was right though: that could be explained later. For now, Bethany Hawke was just grateful to be alive.


	33. Breaking Promises

**Title:** Breaking Promises  
**Pairing:** Zevran/f!Dalish  
**A/N:** A drabble about Zev and Selena during the Blight.

)O(

Selena is nothing if not independent. He knows this. She can and will take care of herself, never asking for help even when she needs it, never jeopardizing her pride for anything or anyone.

She wanted to kill him. It was the redhead, the saucy woman with that irresistible Orlesian accent, who argued for his life. She pleaded with Selena to spare him. It's a nice gesture but his fate is sealed one way or the other. Zevran never intended on actually killing his target. Some assassin he is. Maybe Selena knows this.

The Dalish woman just stares at him curiously. Sometimes, she reminds him of a barbarian princess; a deadly sex goddess whose whims he is grateful to serve. He can tell that she too feels like an outsider, an observer in all this. The war, the Blight, and everything in between are all merely things on her to-do list. If any of it affects her at all, she doesn't show it, not yet anyway.

Zevran admires her, so much so that at first he doesn't even flirt with her. It was the same with Rinna. He'll die before he lets his Warden end up like his first love, the one who softened his heart and then left it aching for her. But Selena too has made her heart cold to the world. He doesn't need to know why. But if he is ever to understand her, he will need to wade into those dark depths as well.

She is not the type of woman to give up her power. The female elf refuses his offer of a massage because if this is going to happen at all it will be on her terms. He respects her wishes. They have all the time in the world anyway. It's only a Blight, after all.

When finally she does invite him into her tent, she makes it clear through her body language that she plans on keeping her people's most sacred oath. Never again shall she submit. Not to him, not to anyone. Zevran can respect that too.

It is nothing short of poetic, the way she moves with such grace. He kisses and caresses her until Selena half-begs half-demands to have him inside her. And she doesn't have to tell him twice.

Selena cries out to her various gods, her icy heart giving way to this intense passion.

And afterward, she doesn't speak to him. They don't talk for at least a week. She does not tell him what she wants. If this was a one time thing or if there miight be a chance of it happening again. It's the not knowing that bothers him. The fact that she won't - can't - say for certain where this is going. The future isn't certain, especially during a Blight. They cannot afford to make plans or promises right now.

So things stay as they are, suspended in uncertainty.

And with each day, Zevran falls more and more in love with her. Even though he promised himself he wouldn't ever open his heart to anyone. Not again. Not after Rinna, who assassinated a part of him when she died. He supposed Selena must have made the same promise to herself.

It seems they are not people of their word after all.


	34. She Will Not Turn

**Title:** She Will Not Turn

**Pairing:** Implied Hespith/Branka

)O(

"First day, they come and catch everyone..."

They words make it seem less real, like this is all happening to someone else. Hespith swims in memories, she dreams of strangers' faces and open doors.

She knows she is drowning.

Hespith doesn't know how long it's been, but somehow she is the last. The last to turn, the last to become like _them_.

And when her new dream friend appears, she tells her everything because it's nice to have someone to talk to. She stares into Hespith's eyes which are glassy and soulless. And there is fear in the other woman's own eyes; fear that it could have been her.

But Hespith will not speak of Branka, not of what she did. It's unforgivable. She watches Laryn die and laments her fate, knowing that it was earned, and then she sees a chance to escape this nightmare and takes it. Hespith will find Branka, she will make this right again; she will _not_ turn.

"Branka," The Paragon jumps at the voice, peeling her eyes away from the Anvil to look at her, at what she has helped to create.

"Hespith...?" She knows this is but a distorted reflection of her former lover, mind long gone, but for a moment the dwarf wonders if the ends truly justify the means.

"Yes, Branka, look at me." Hespith commands. "_Look at me_..."

She will _not_ turn.


	35. Revelation

**Title:** Revelation  
**Pairing:** None  
**A/N:** The continuation of Addison Cousland's incredibly depressing saga.

)O(

Addison was certain that her father would roll over in his grave if he knew how weak she had allowed herself to become.

...Only those bastards hadn't given him a grave, let alone a pyre. Her father had bled to death on the larder floor. Mother presumably suffered the same fate not long after.

Addison's parents were never really happy with her aspiring to be a warrior. They worried for her safety and she knew they wanted more grandchildren someday. But she couldn't ignore her own happiness, even if she was stupid and reckless and just plain ungrateful at times.

And for what?

She had nothing now but the burden placed upon her by the Grey Wardens and Loghain and most of all Rendon Howe. Addison could not, and would not, ignore that. And if she wasn't good enough then she'd just have to become someone else. The Blight and the civil war that would no doubt occur as a result of what they were about to do, which was technically treason and thus easily dealt with unless they succeeded in raising an army...None of it stopped for anything, least of all her.

She was beginning to realize just how little mercy there really was in the world.

Addison couldn't afford to be the Teyrn's daughter right now.

Not when she had to be a Warden.

Shortly after breakfast, Addison gathered her companions around the fire pit for a meeting. They all looked rather worried. This had never happened before, after all, so no one was sure exactly what their roles should be.

Alistair and Leliana sat on the ground while Sten - giant and stoic as ever - hovered on the perimeter of camp, observing the others with confusion in his violet eyes. He didn't respect her. Why should he? Up until this point Addison had done nothing to earn the respect of any of these people who willfully put their lives in her hands, trusting that she was there for them even when she was not.

Even Morrigan begrudgingly attended the meeting, but she opted to stand with her arms folded as an act of defiance.

Wynne, the healer they'd picked up from what was left of the Circle Tower, was seated next to Leliana. Ever since Addison had told her about Howe's betrayal in response to the innocent enough query about how she became a Grey Warden, the mage always seemed to look at her with pity in her eyes. Maybe she was doing it subconsciously, but it was exactly what Addison had been afraid of, and it was exactly the reason why Alistair was the only one who knew the whole story.

The Circle mage was a well-meaning sort, of course, but she didn't need pity.

Leliana was the same way. She had been there in those first few days after Ostagar and Lothering but before the Circle when Addison had swam in memories. She offered to pray with her. Addison declined because she could handle the memories, but not the even more awful days when they began to fade and she realized that this was all she had to replace them. This was family now. This was home. It was war and death and chaos but anything was better than being in her own head right now. So Addison prayed, and Leliana prayed; they prayed for a miracle.

_"O Maker, hear my cry:  
Guide me through the blackest nights  
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked  
Make me to rest in the warmest places_.  
_For You are the fire at the heart of the world  
And comfort is only Yours to give._"

Maybe...

"I'm sorry," she said to them all. "I'm sorry that I've been a horrible leader and a particularly horrible friend. I'm sorry that I've never thanked you for everything you have done for me. But it's going to be different. . ." 


	36. Gone

**Title:** Gone  
**Pairing:** Oghren/Branka/Felsi

)O(

When Branka left for the blasted Deep Roads, he screamed at her, because how could she take everyone except him? But she was so damn stubborn, like always. Normally it was one of the reasons why he loved her.

"Goodbye, Oghren," she'd said curtly. Then she was gone.

Rage filled him. He bit his tongue and tasted blood. The dwarf's berserker instincts took over. In a blur of red and fury, he smashed her prized collection of miniature figurines until the delicate horses were nothing but bits of broken glass shattered on the ground.

In time, Oghren turned to ale to fill the gaping hole in his life. It seemed to soothe the fire burning in his chest. It numbed him, and he soon felt nothing at all anymore...

When Branka returned, she would scream at him for being drunk and breaking her precious figurines, while he screamed at her for being bossy and so sodding stubborn. Then Oghren would take her to bed. He'd remember why he married her in the first place, and why he loved her.

. . .

She was gone for months, no doubt searching for that bloody Anvil. Branka had been in the Deep Roads longer than anyone should. People didn't usually come back after three months, let alone eight. Her expedition party hadn't been equipped for an extended stretch of time anyway.

And if that wasn't enough, the surfacers were talking about a Blight, which was actually good news for Orzammar but still...

Eventually people stopped listening when he pleaded for someone - _anyone_ - to go out and look for her. It was a suicide mission, they said, darkspawn or no. They had no reason to listen, because who was he without her besides a worthless drunk?

He'd avoided Felsi for weeks after that night. They had gotten together for a quick tumble, but instead he spent the night sobbing in her arms. Oghren was more embarrassed than the time he wrestled that roast nug and lost. But Felsi seemed to understand, even if he didn't.

"I'm going to the surface." she declared one day.

"What?" The news shocked him, but more than anything, it hurt. It hurt worse than he thought it would. "Why by all the ancestors' beards would ya wanna do that for?"

"Why do you think?" She folded her arms across her ample bosom. "It's the only place a dwarf of lower caste can make something of themselves. Orzammar treats us both like nug shit. I say let them all drown in their sodding pride. You could come with me. You'll find something to fight for up there. I just know it."

"I already got somethin' to fight for, woman." he said. "Besides, what if what they're sayin' about the Blight is true?"

"So what if it is?" Felsi demanded. "Those humans have killed four archdemons, and they don't even have half the experience we do. They must be doing something right."

"Eh..." He waved her off. "I don't know."

She was sielnt for a moment, her lips forming into a thin line. "You're still waiting for her, aren't you?"

"What are talkin' about?"

Then she frowned. "Oghren..."

"Just go," he turned away. "Enjoy all that sunshine."

Felsi sighed. "Stubborn as a bronto, that man." she muttered, before she too was gone.


	37. Silver Coins

Isabela would never love the man who was her husband. Her mother had practically given her away like a common goat to be bought and sold whenever its owner wished. He took her away from her native Rivain, probably out of fear that she might run, and presented her as a trophy to his fellow Antivan merchants.

Oh, how Isabela longed to steal that greasy bastard's ship he took so much pride in and build a new life for herself. She'd learn the art of the blade as well as the more natural, feminine art of seduction. To the Void with Emilio!

She wasn't the praying sort by any means, but what happened on that fateful night did indeed answer her unspoken prayers. Isabela's dear husband was off at sea again, probably too drunk to remember her, screwing some whore by now. Women liked to throw themselves at men who had money, even married men. Not that she cared. It was a loveless marriage, after all, but it was unfair that she got none of the action.

Suddenly a crash alerted her from somewhere in that huge house. Isabela stifled a scream and slipping out of bed as quietly as she could manage before retrieving a knife from under her pillow. She began keeping it there after the first time Emilio took advantage of her. He never hurt her, but no one made Isabela do anything or anyone she didn't want to.

It didn't take long to find the source of the crash. A window had been broken. Where were the guards? Surely he wouldn't leave his precious wife alone...

"Don't move," a velvety voice hissed in her ear. Isabela wanted to scream, but the sound was already dead, as she soon would be. She froze. "Now drop the weapon. I doubt a pretty thing like you knows how to use it anyway." The dagger fell from her shaking hand, clattering to the floor with a flash of moonlit silver. The mysterious man picked it up and twirled it in his fingers.

"Who are you?" Isabela asked, her voice small and fearful. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same questions, no?" His eyes twinkled. "See, no one is supposed to be here. I was instructed to kill my target and take anything shiny as proof of a job well done."

"This is my husband's house."

"Ah..." He frowned. "Well then, my condolences."

"Emilio is...dead?" Isabela was in shock. How many times had she wished for this? She had assumed the sea would claim him but never an assassin's blade. "You...killed him?"

"Yes...I am sorry for your loss, again." The man looked extremely uncomfortable. "He did not seem particularly pleasant, but...I had nothing against him personally. It's a job, that's all." He stepped into the light so she could clearly see the dark tattoos against his already dark skin, which emphasized his fine elven features. "I am Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows, at your service."

The widow stared at her husband's killer and broke into a smile. She was free at last. The ship was rightfully hers now. This could be her chance.

But Isabela felt she should properly express her gratitude to this man first. So she walked forward, swaying her hips in that way that used to result in Emilio thinking he could lay his filthy hands on her. Then she grabbed Zevran by the collar and kissed him, hard.

"My dear," the assassin breathed, words muffled against her mouth. "I feel this might be...in poor taste so soon after your husband's passing...Are you certain this is what you want?"

Isabela pulled away and looked directly into his eyes, keeping him pinned against the Orlesian silk rug with her body.

"Do you have any idea how long it has been since someone has asked me that?" she replied calmly.

"I take it your marriage was not a happy one?"

"Happy?" Isabela laughed bitterly. "Sweetie, I haven't been happy for a very long time."

"Well..." Zevran smirked, a devious look in his eye. "A beautiful woman such as yourself should not be forced to suffer a moment more."

He took her places she'd only dreamed of, entirely new levels of pleasure. Never had she imagined it could be like this. Her nostrils filled with his scent, and the slightest salty undertones of blood. In that moment she was utterly at his mercy. Logic kicked in and she realized she was fucking a murderer. He could murder her, too. But then her toes curled; all thought was lost to ecstasy. If she died now, she would die a happy woman.

"What are you going to do now?" Zevran asked once they both lay sated, hearts pounding in unison as they came down from the rush of their exertions.

"I haven't really thought about it," Isabela admitted. "I know I'll take the ship. Maybe rename her something a bit more...sultry. Then, well, go where the wind carries me I suppose."

"Hmm..."

"What?" She rolled onto her side in order to face him. "What are thinking?"

"When I was a child," Zevran began. "I always wanted to be a pirate, especially after the Crows bought me. I believed freedom meant doing whatever you liked and bowing to no master."

"What are you saying?"

"It's simple, my saucy little minx," he purred. "I think you would make an excellent pirate."

Isabela laughed. "Surely you're joking!"

"Why not? I can picture you on the sea, ordering your crew around. Does it not sound even a little tempting?"

"Well..." It rather did, actually.

"Besides, what better life is there for you here?"

He had a point.

In everything that followed, it never crossed Isabela's mind that Zevran may be trying to live vicariously through her.

Not that she minded.


End file.
